How does it feel to go into space? What does it make you feel about the future of our planet, and your own place in the universe? What are the moral implications of space travel? And just how do you take a picture of Pipeline from the International Space Station as it flies overhead at 17,000 mph?

All questions that I discussed with one of my favourite ever guests: Christina Koch, a surfer and – yes – astronaut who spent 328 days in space in the International Space Station, setting a new record for the longest spaceflight completed by a woman in the process. She also, as we discussed, spent her downtime photographing the planet’s best surf locations, posting them on her hugely popular Instagram feed and outing herself as a serial surf geek in the process.

In this blog, I rounded up four things we learned from our lengthy and inspirational conversation. And click here if you’ve yet to listen to the episode - it’s a good one.

1. Focus On The Now

Christina’s record-breaking spaceflight was as much a mental as it was a physical feat. To manage this challenge, she utilised the Expeditionary Behaviour training she received from NASA and also came up with her own coping mechanisms to deal with what she calls ‘sensory underload’ – the lack of new stimuli that is a disconcerting feature of space flight.

When things got tough, she focused on the positive experiences she’d miss, rather than fixating on her mission end date. It’s a technique she applied to her time in Antarctica, her time aboard the ISS and her time in lockdown.

2. Have A Hobby

“I don’t think I’d have survived 11 months in a tin can without a hobby I was really passionate about. For me that hobby was photographing surf spots.”

The impact of Christina’s celestial side hustle on her time in space was significant. It gave her a focus away from her tightly schedule workdays, offered a technical challenge that occupied valuable headspace, and kept her connected to her favourite earthbound hobby.

“It was a project I was absolutely in love with. It brought me so much joy, it connected me with my friends who were surfers and, having watched all of the competitions up there, it was neat to know there were instances where the picture I took was during the final heat of a competition.”

3. Learn From The Past

NASA’s lengthy experience of sending humans into space means the organisation has accrued an enormous amount of knowledge when it comes to the psychology of small groups living in small, enclosed spaces.

As a result, understanding and adhering to best Expedition Behaviour practice is one of the key reasons Christina’s mission went so smoothly. As Christina explained, there are five tenets of ‘good’ expeditionary behaviour: Communication, Leadership/Fellowship, Self-Care, Team Care and Group Living.

“It’s an entire part of our training flow, learning how to live with other people in a group setting… we talk about these skills in a way that creates a common language between you and your crew mates. I would say that that’s the main way that NASA enables us to cope with what is a very challenging and unique situation”.

4. Avoid The Stereotype Threat

A ‘Stereotype Threat’ is defined as the fear of inadvertently confirming a negative stereotype, something Christina became acutely aware of while undergoing her astronaut training and during her record-breaking spaceflight.

“Spacewalking is the biggest intellectual and physical challenge of every flight”, she explained during our conversation. “It’s the equivalent of running a marathon, and I was constantly worried about the fact that it was this well-known stereotype that women were not as good in the suit”.

To counter the self-fulfilling effect of the Stereotype Threat, Christina replaced these negative thoughts with positive visualisationsl

“I would imagine the people in the control room watching me saying, ‘Oh she is so good at this! Watch what she’s gonna do’:”

By replacing the Stereotype Threat with positive images, Christina found herself able to overcome these intimidating situations and succeed on her own terms.

“The newly emerging ideal was solitude, purity, perfect waves far from civilisation. Robinson Crusoe, Endless Summer.” - William Finnegan, Barbarian Days

In the weeks since my recent catboarding trip to Georgia’s Bakhmaro valley in the Lesser Caucasus, I’ve been thinking a lot about scarcity, and what it means for surfing and snowboarding.

Why? Because scarcity is one of the things that makes us unique in the sporting world, something fundamental that anybody who follows these pursuits at all seriously comes to understand.

Think about it. Footballers don’t have to travel across continents to find a pitch worth playing on. Swimmers can lap the local pool. Runners can step outside their front door.

But unless you’re lucky enough to live by the ocean or in the mountains, surfers and snowboarders are travellers by default.

Most of us have to go out and find it. And that peculiarity has shaped our culture in profound ways.

“California was getting crowded, so in high school a friend and I said, ‘Well, let’s graduate high school early and drive down to some place like Central America.’ You know, because there’s maybe uncrowded waves there.” - Craig Peterson, Looking Sideways, episode 077

The most obvious consequence is that scarcity has always been one of our key currencies: hunted out, hoarded, jealously guarded.

Another is that ‘the search’ for a particular type of untouched paradise has become one of our most persistent and influential tropes. Adventure as a solution to scarcity is part of it, of course. But over the years the romance - or ‘purity’, to use Finnegan’s revealing signifier - of the search has taken on equal importance.

Think of Endless Summer, surfing’s ur-text. Or Peterson and Naughton, our own Lewis and Clark, questing their way across continents in the 1970s, documenting it all in a series of massively influential dispatches for Surfer magazine, and creating the wave-hunt template followed to this day by everyone from Kepa Acero to Chris Burkard.

It’s why, in Barbarian Days, Finnegan casts his surfing life as the search for ‘a scratched-out frontier, where we would live as latter-day barbarians’, and names his entire book after it.

In recent years, though, there’s been a growing understanding that these sideways Shangri-Las don’t exist merely as backdrops for our own solipsistic imaginings. Reconciling the impact of surf and snow tourism on the places we visit has become an increasingly important part of the culture.

Becky Coley’s essential Point of Change, which tracks the generational impact of surf tourism on the Indonesian island of Nias, is one such example. At its heart, a film like Point of Change asks us to ponder a shamefully overlooked yet vital question: how do we reckon with the impact of our own narrow fantasies on destinations ill-equipped to handle them?

All of which is useful context for why my trip to Bakhmaro proved so thought-provoking.

I’d wanted to visit for years, lured by the stories that always do the rounds about such places. If friends who’d made the trip were to be believed, here was a proper throwback of a valley: the beneficiary of a geographical uniqueness which means it gets dumped on with light, dry coastal Black Sea powder; yet close enough to Russia and other perplexing geopolitical realities to scare most people off and keep the crowds down.

My kind of trip, in other words.

When it comes to snowboarding, I’ve always sought out resorts at the margins. Shemshak and Dizin in Iran. The Cedars and Mzaar in Lebanon. Beldersay in Uzbekistan.

These trips had dual inspirations. There were the magazine stories I’d devoured early in my career - Craig Kelly in Iran; Trevor Graves, Jamie Lynn, Dale Rehberg and Mike Ranquet in Greece - as influential to me as Peterson and Naughton had been for an earlier generation of surf travellers.

But equally important were literary influences: Robert Byron’s The Road to Oxiana (the reason I dragged everybody to Isfahan) and F.M. Bailey’s Mission to Tashkent (ditto Samarkand, when we went to Uzbekistan).

As well as being miles from the mainstream, visiting these places fed an adventurous curiosity that eventually became at least as important to me as the riding itself - just as it so obviously had for Finnegan, Peterson, Naughton and the rest.

As I worked out what snowboarding meant to me and how I could express it, these trips seemed like a mix of adventure and pretension that was right up my youthful boulevard.

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So when I was invited to Bakhmaro in March 2026 to write a story for The Times, as part of a group of UK journalists, I was excited to fulfil a minor snowboarding ambition.

Even better, as became clear on our first morning, the riding is ridiculously accessible and fun: perfect for the vast majority of snowboarders and skiers who want to ride untracked hero snow in an insanely beautiful spot, with very few people around.

Personally, I also loved that it isn’t frightening. I’ve always been a bit of a coward when it comes to exposure and steeps (though, weirdly, my appetite for fear in surfing is much higher). I used to beat myself up about that; these days I couldn’t care less.

One of the joys of the trip was that you could absolutely pin it everywhere, without worrying too much, and just enjoy the snow, the turns, and the environment.

As the trip continued, the rhythm of lodge life - snowcats each morning, post-ride beers, falling asleep into enormous plates of mountain food - reminded me of surf trips to the Maldives, Sri Lanka or Morocco. Not that Georgia has the crowds that are now the reality of those places. (At least, not yet.)

So yes: Bakhmaro is an outrageously user-friendly version of the promised land we all seek. And only a short day’s journey away from London.

As you might be gathering, I had a blast.

Still, as the week unfolded, I began to wonder what the future held for the valley.

There was our experience on the second day, when we found ourselves in a small queue of cats heading up to Sakornia, one of Bakhmaro’s most sought-after runs, and had to wait in line to make the access traverse. Normal in, say, Chamonix. But not really what I’d been expecting here.

Then there was the encounter on our last morning, when we were overtaken by a group of apparently guide-free riders gleefully breaking every rule of guided backcountry snowboarding - to our head guide and Georgia Catskiing co-founder Shota Komakhidze’s evident fury.

Individually, these moments were trivial. Together they were telltale signs that Bakhmaro is already being fast-tracked to a critical point in its history.

Hardly post-Instagram Canggu or Ahangama (although neither were they, until fairly recently).

But enough to raise a couple of questions:

How did Bakhmaro get here?

And how would inviting a group of journalists to spread the word help?

A couple of nights later in the capital, Tbilisi, I sat down with Shota Komakhidze to ask him just that.

Shota had been our constant companion for the last four days. He’d guided our jet-lagged group around Kutaisi, Georgia’s third city, on our first morning. He’d been lead guide on every drop.

And he’d joined me, Caroline and Keme as we’d ill-advisedly necked late-night chacha from a shot-ski.

As co-owner of Georgia Catskiing - the outfit hosting our trip - the bearish, avuncular Komakhidze was both the reason we’d been invited and the only person I’d seen express any tangible disquiet at the vibes on the hill.

Now, on our final night in the country, I wanted to understand how he reconciled those two seemingly contradictory positions.

It soon became obvious that I’d underestimated how quickly ski tourism in Bakhmaro had developed. According to Shota, the transformation had taken less than a decade.

“The first time I visited Bakhmaro there was almost nobody skiing,” he told me, over the khachapuri, khinkali and mtsvadi that are ubiquitous at every Georgian meal.

Early pioneers like Shota and Ingo Schlutius - a Swiss skier whose explorations of Bakhmaro predated Komakhidze’s own - were drawn to the valley by forces Peterson, Naughton or Finnegan would recognise: fun, adventure, wildness, and a crowd-free riding experience you simply couldn’t get anywhere else.

“The conditions were difficult,” he reflected. “It was completely wild. People didn’t understand why you would even go there.”

In those early years, ski touring and splitboarding kept numbers low. The turning point came when Schlutius opened Powder Project, Bakhmaro’s first catskiing operation.

As a mountain guide who’d set up his first ski touring, mountaineering and trekking businesses in 2009, Shota moved quickly. His Georgia Catskiing company began operating in the valley soon after.

Snowcats enabled pioneers such as Shota and Ingo to open up vast swathes of terrain, and made the valley viable as an international destination.

“That changed things,” as Shota says.

Before long, increasing numbers of a particularly intrepid type of skier and snowboarder began making the trip: unable to afford a once-in-a-lifetime splurge to, say, Baldface; and drawn by word-of-mouth about an affordable, beguiling powder paradise.

For Shota and Georgia Catskiing, growth was rapid.

“The business grew quickly, around 20% each year. But growth means challenges. I realised I couldn’t guide everything myself anymore. I had to build something bigger, bring in other guides, and scale it.”

Soon, Komakhidze and the valley’s other established operators faced the problems that can bedevil such scenarios: less scrupulous operators, lowering safety standards, and a shifting Overton Window of acceptable behaviour.

I’d seen something similar while surfing a reef called Gas Stations in Sri Lanka in February 2025. A quiet dawn session was suddenly flooded by beginners on foamies, their instructor pushing them into waves over the reef.

Later, over coffee, I asked my friend Ed, who runs an established outfit called Soul & Surf in Ahangama, how long this had been going on.

He grimaced. “Since last year. Lazy Left and Right (the area’s two beginner breaks) are so crowded that one of the surf schools started taking his lessons to the reef. Now everyone’s at it.”

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According to Shota, a new wave of ‘cowboy operators’ in Bakhmaro are already exerting a similarly unwelcome influence. Take the company that knocked up a website and lifted Georgia Catskiing’s pitch in a bid to siphon off their business.

This, it transpired, was the group that had scooted past us on that final morning — which helped explain Shota’s furious reaction.

“These people just want money,” he says. “They make a website, copy the name, and start selling. They’re cheaper. But they don’t think about safety or responsibility.”

For Shota, this is Bakhmaro’s doomsday scenario, especially given the very real avalanche risk in the valley.

“Mistakes out here mean serious problems. Some people don’t even have rescue equipment. There are people doing this without proper training. If something happens with an unlicensed guide, it’ll affect everyone.”

There’s also the question of capacity. By Shota’s reckoning, anything over 180 skiers and snowboarders on any given day and the valley will be maxed out.

“How many were on the hill during our week?” I asked.

“The busy day? Two hundred.”

In grappling with this growth-or-management dilemma, then, Bakhmaro is facing the same juggle as countless other prized surf and snow destinations, from Kuta to Niseko.

That’s why Komakhidze is on a mission to ensure the valley avoids the same fate.

His plan is bold: devise a regulatory system based on existing European and North American models, adapted for Georgia, so that visitors choose certified, responsible operators.

“I want something sustainable. Regulation is essential,” he says. “We’re trying to introduce a licensing system with rules that only qualified operators can meet. That way only responsible companies can operate.”

Shota wants to shape, rather than stop, growth - ideally within the next two years. The first step is gathering data and developing guidelines that all operators in the valley must follow.

It’s a progressive idea, especially in a country without strong central control. Any regulation would require cooperation between government and the mountain guide association, and support from competing operators.

“It’s not easy, but there is some progress. The other companies understand that regulation is in everyone’s interest.”

Shota’s urgency is palpable. Without action, the fear is that the valley could become another Niseko: crowded, lucrative, but stripped of what made it special in the first place.

“We’ll earn money,” he says. “But the experience will be gone.”

Over the years I’ve been on countless travel press trips, and the deal is always PR at its most transactional: hosts provide the best possible time; you write the place up glowingly; they get more visitors.

So to be invited on a trip where the unspoken goal is “controlled, safe and sustainable” growth, as Komakhidze puts it, rather than unfettered, damn-the-local-consequences growth that can still be a huge part of the travel industry’s MO, makes a change.

And it’s here that Shota’s decision to invite journalists to the valley in the first place seems strategic, rather than contradictory. Driving the kind of cultural and regulatory change he’s after will require political will and leverage. And coverage in an outlet like The Times could certainly provide it.

“We knew nothing. We were so naïve.” — Kevin Naughton, Looking Sideways, episode 077

In the end, my belated pilgrimage to Georgia was a reminder that the journeys we take in pursuit of scarcity shape the places we visit in ways that far exceed their influence on the romantic surf and snow stories we like to tell ourselves.

In Barbarian Days, Finnegan invokes Joseph Conrad - a writer who spent his life exploring these impacts and tensions on the grandest scale, in works like Heart of Darkness and, in this case, Lord Jim:

“We wander in our thousands over the face of the earth, the illustrious and the obscure, earning beyond the seas our fame, our money, or only a crust of bread; but it seems to me that for each of us going home must be like going to render an account.”

When I first read this passage, I assumed Finnegan was referring to the kind of ‘did-I-waste-my-life?’ pondering that comes to anyone who spent their twenties chasing waves or snow around the world.

But now I can see another interpretation: that the ‘account’ to be rendered from these trips also runs in the other direction, and in different ways — some negative, some positive.

The turns and memories I immortalised in an Instagram carousel and Reel (the one above) I edited on the plane home (and the “Looks insane! I’m gonna go there!” messages that followed) are one obvious manifestation.

But then: so is the local restaurant being squeezed out by a multinational, undercutting prices and shipping profits offshore.

Or, as in this case, a local operator grappling with the profit-versus-preservation conundrum as he attempts, Canute-like, to influence the course of ‘progress’ in the valley he loves.

“We are adept at saying what we make of places but far less good at saying what places makes of us.” — Robert Macfarlane

So will Shota’s gambit work?

Infrastructure and regulation will certainly help.

But ultimately it will depend on us. And whether we can learn to see the places shaped by our search for scarcity as active participants in the stories we tell, as opposed to mere backdrops.

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That’s one reason I started Insights, the Looking Sideways section exclusively for my paid subscribing community, in which I share blogs, pods, guest posts and videos on this theme.

Here are some samples to get you started:

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That same impetus to share the creative wealth was the inspiration behind the Looking Sideways x Db Fund, through which we offered creatives and storytellers a practical way to bring their dream projects to life with funding (a none-too-shabby €5000 for each winning entry); and mentoring from me and Db ambassadors such as Chris Burkard, Pacha Light, and Cuban Lu.

In spring 2025, we whittled our initial 300 entries down to a shortlist of six. Then, in June 2025, we chose our two winners:

And now there’s even more good news: one of our winners Emily Cooney has finished her project!

To celebrate, and to find out how Emily found the experience of finishing the film and working with Db mentors Chris Burkard and Timothy Myers, I caught up with her for a quick chat.

Watch the finished film below, and read on to find out more.

Your film is out! How are you feeling about the whole process?

That it’s taken a while! This has been one of the projects I’ve had in the works the longest. I had the idea about two years ago, and I would say from there it took about a year to mature into production.

Because I am so personally connected to the storyline, I would say my favourite part of the whole process has been getting to know all of the participants and reflecting on diabetes. It feels so nice to have it released and receive words of inspiration from others with T1

Some of the feedback from viewers has been really brilliant. It seems like there’s a real appetite for this type of take on action and adventure sports. Has this surprised you?

I wouldn’t say I’m surprised. I think nuance is really important when it comes to film-making, and I don’t think this topic hasn’t really been touched upon in the same way before.

That said, I hope the film is accessible enough for people without T1D to enjoy it as much as those who already have an understanding of the condition.

Hopefully, social media will help spread it far and wide, too.

How did winning the Db x Looking Sideways Fund help you bring this project to fruition?

Originally, I thought the film was going to be completely self-funded, so the €5000 prize has gone a really long way. It allowed me to employ an animator and a sound mixer (both of whom also have T1), and also reimburse the participants for the time (and money) they put in.

Five thousand euros goes a long way in a project you originally thought was going to be unfunded. It not only allowed me to employ an animator and a sound mixer (who also have T1, by the way) but also reimburse the participants for the time and money they all committed when agreeing to take part in the film.

How was it putting this film through the mentorship process that came as part of winning the Fund?

Financially speaking the Fund was great, but I would say the mentorship was even more valuable. Having people to bounce ideas off, whether around logistics, the edit, or the storytelling, was a really important part of the process.

Was any of the feedback or insight you received surprising or particularly challenging?

The main feedback I received about the film was around the story structure, and how the film needed a central element to bind all the other stories together. They recommend that should be me as filmmaker! This made me uncomfortable, to say the least.

It was super valuable to learn what it’s like to be in front of the camera, but I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it. Editing yourself is so hard. Respect to all of the influencers out there.

Your film wasn’t selected for Kendal. How do you handle setbacks like this?

Initially I had two aims for the film: to break down the barriers perceived by for those with type 1 diabetes who are curious about outdoor sports but believe that it is not accessible to them, and to raise awareness among those active within outdoor sports communities who don’t know much about T1D.

Not being selected for Kendal did feel like a setback, but as in every art form, films are subjective. I think believing that the value of your work is determined by others is a bit of a slippery slope. I feel I’ve met my original aims, and that everybody in the film has been reflected truthfully. So in my eyes, it’s a success.

What did you learn from the whole process?

I have learned to look at storytelling in different ways. During the interview stage of production, I learned to stay quiet after somebody had spoken, so they could reflect upon what they’d said, and say it more concisely without prompting.

I also experienced the joy of seeing a vision in my head animated in such a fantastic way.

What’s next for this project?

I am planning on a screening in North Wales at the end of January. I’m looking forward to experiencing peoples’ reaction to the film as they watch! In the edit it’s difficult to imagine watching the film for the first time, so this is always a really cool part of the process for me.

Beyond that, I just want as many people to see it as possible, whether that’s online, at film festivals, or through screenings.

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For the first of my irregular series of columns for influential marketing platform MAD//Fest, I shared some reflections on this year’s Outdoor Connections event at Kendal Mountain Festival.

Read on (or read the original here), and let me know what you think in the comments:

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If you’re at all paying attention, one of the things you quickly learn working in the outdoor industry is how much hidebound thinking there is among brands and marketers.

So the progressive roster and format pulled together by organisers Steve Scott and Joe White for Outdoor Connections, Kendal Mountain Festival’s first attempt at an industry B2B summit, is to be applauded.

Perhaps this is why the take-up among the outdoor industry’s assorted marketing departments, NGOs, agencies, (including my own, All Conditions Media), and other assorted industry figures, was so strong.

170 people attended, and the resulting day of panels and discussions revealed much about where the outdoor and adventure industries stand on a number of essential modern topics.

Fresh thinking is already here

Kendal Mountain Festival always has a theme, and this year’s was Hope. Personally, I took much hope from some particularly inspiring chats I had over the course of the weekend itself, and some of the contributions I witnessed at the Outdoor Connections event.

One of the reasons I invited Re-Action founder Gavin Fernie-Jones to take part in my Outdoor Connections panel on the topic of ‘Brand Purpose and Storytelling’, for example, is because his take on the stories the outdoor industry should be telling is so original and defiantly none brand-centric.

As I suspected it might, his articulate and emotional take on this most ubiquitous of modern marketing discussions gave the audience much to ponder.

Other highlights? A late night exchange with Tijana Tamburic, during which she explained how dreadful mistreatment of talent during her modelling career had been the catalyst to start her brilliant Female Narratives agency.

Like everybody, I enjoyed the contribution of Jeffrey Bowman of OTSDR Studio, who got the biggest laughs of the day during his ‘Shut Up and Start Talking’ presentation.

And I was inspired by Kesang Ball and Tom Wiltshire of Trippin’ and All Corners, whose ‘Contribute to Culture Without Extracting From It’ talk I found a useful and provocative counterpoint to some of the more transactional points raised earlier in the day.

As you’ll see below, these thought-provoking interactions continued throughout the weekend, and I left Kendal with the - yes - hopeful conviction that a new generation of entrepreneurs and thinkers are already shaping the way we will have these conversations in the future.

Patagonia still loom large over any discussion around brand purpose

In my January 2025 podcast series, The Announcement (below), I used Patagonia’s decision to make ‘earth’ their only shareholder as a lens through which to explore a number of key modern topics of discussion: the democratic impact of unelected billionaires, the reality of ‘business for good’ and purpose marketing for brands, the current state of philanthropic capitalism, among others.

Yet the conversation has always been missing something significant— a data-led analysis of what the brand’s move has actually achieved on the ground.

Thus, when Patagonia released their first Impact Report in the weeks leading up to Outdoor Connections, I was curious to understand how these findings would influence the panel on brand purpose I was scheduled to host with Re-Action’s Gavin Fernie Jones, Finisterre CMO Bronwen Foster-Butler, and Katie Moore of Yak Media (below).

As is always the case whenever Patagonia make moves in this arena, in the days that followed my LinkedIn feed was awash with binary, surface-level hot takes, many of which were the usual fan-boy and girling, but without any analysis of the actual data.

During my panel, I asked who’d actually read the report. The response was in single figures; fascinating in a room full of outdoor marketing and charitable sector professionals, many of whom are currently running campaigns putatively centred around this notion of ‘brand purpose’.

Perhaps this is because the report contains some truly challenging numbers around the reality of Patagonia’s impact, as well as confirming an uncomfortable reality: how difficult it will be for any brand to actually make an impact of real significance.

As I discussed with my panel, among the data, the report reveals something stark: that any business approaching ‘purpose’ as a purely storytelling proposition is missing the point dramatically.

After all, if the one brand that has geared their entire organisational structure towards achieving these goals can’t pull this off, then what hope for everybody else?

As ever, Patagonia’s transparency and leadership are to be applauded. What will be interesting is seeing who actually engages with the harsh lessons Patagonia is so generously sharing with the rest of the outdoor and fashion industries - and what influence this will have on the industry’s direction of travel in the coming years.

Access matters more than ever

A perennial theme at brand-led events such as Kendal Mountain Festival, but a significant change of tone this year. Above all, it is clear there is much work still to do.

Personally, I took valuable lessons from the live interviews I conducted with two influential creative leaders: filmmaker Orlando von Einsiedel, and wildlife presenter and scientist Dan O’Neill.

In my Saturday afternoon interview with von Einsiedel, for example, the Oscar-winning documentary maker described how he considers the ethics of access to be one of the most important aspects of his work, describing in fascinating detail how these considerations had influenced the improvisatory creative approach he’s taken with his remarkable new film The Cycle of Love.

It was a view echoed by fast-rising wildlife presenter, scientist and LGBTQIA+ advocate Dan O’Neill, who I interviewed at a riotous late Sunday afternoon session for my now traditional Looking Sideways live KMF slot, and who spoke authoritatively about this key topic, explaining how collaborations with the communities he works with across Asia and South America are a key tenet of his pioneering wildlife film-making.

Away from the stage, I was lucky enough to have similarly insightful individual chats with Alice Sainsbury, a designer who is challenging the outdoor industry, which still takes an ableist approach to product design by default, to bring access and inclusion much more to the forefront; and Sabrina Pace-Humphreys, the activist and cofounder of Black Trail Runners, who led an insightful panel with community fishing collective We Are Blackfish, at which access was also a key theme.

Sabrina is also at the sharp end of conversations with brands on this topic, and her insights into where they continue to fall short with tokenistic efforts were instructive and illuminating.

The conclusion? Talented, driven individuals and organisations are already out there leading this ever-more-important and subtle conversation. Brands and agencies should listen and learn.

It’s time for a new take on AI - and where were the women on the panel?

The more I hear people in marketing and brand circles discuss AI, the more it becomes apparent that there are very few original takes on this most hackneyed of modern topics.

At Outdoor Connections, part of the discussion was yet again given over to this now commonplace idea that AI is a technological inevitability that pragmatic businesses must embrace, rather than the late-stage capitalism data-and-attention-span land grab it so obviously is.

Let’s be clear - none of this is ‘inevitable’. As ever, it originates with clever people sitting in rooms and devising ways to sell their products to the rest of us (in this case with particularly consequential and globally significant sophistication).

It would be great to attend a panel (especially at an event full of marketers!) where this rather obvious truth was acknowledged and discussed.

As Gavin Fernie-Jones pointed out during our brand purpose discussion, the story we tell is always a choice. And we have the power to change it whenever we want. (Especially if we work in marketing).

So thank goodness for journalist and panelist , editor of Sidetracked and Like The Wind magazines, and ‘defiant generative AI party-pooper’ (TM).

Alex’s articulate, impassioned points about the impact these tools will have on actual humans, and the creative work so many people in the room claim to cherish, injected a much-needed note of moral clarity into what risked becoming yet more one-dimensional AI boosterism.

And why were there no women on this particular panel? On a day that had clearly been painstakingly curated, this was a rare misstep.

It’s too early to say if Outdoor Connections was a success. Next year will be the real challenge.

I have a long-established scepticism about the number of outdoor-adjacent ‘purpose industry’ conferences that have proliferated in recent years.

They tend to platform the same people, who have the same discussions in front of the same audiences, with very little actual - well - change resulting at the end of it all.

Too often, these inordinately expensive, self-congratulatory, pay-to-play events are networking or pitching hustles cosplaying as vehicles for change.

That’s why, despite the cautious optimism engendered by this first Kendal B2B event, it is too early to call Outdoor Connections a success. And as they begin to think about next year, the organisers should be asking themselves how they can avoid this trap.

Beyond the cash it could potentially make for the parent company, there’s little point in an event like this if it doesn’t lead to actual progress, and make a difference to the way the outdoor industry and brands contribute to or lead these conversations.

Otherwise it’s just any old back-slapping, networking bash with a fundamental dishonesty at its heart. And the last thing the outdoor industry needs is yet another excuse to mark its own homework.

Whether OC can build upon this promising start, bring in some fresh voices, and evolve to truly achieve something different, will be the real test in 2026.

Were you at Outdoor Connections and KMF? What were your main takeaways? I’d love to hear them:

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It's November, and Saturday morning at Kendal Mountain Festival. I'm sitting in a Helinox chair in a freezing cold warehouse, as you do.

A bunch of creative outdoor industry folk (and me) are gathered for a panel discussion that has been organised by the Aline Collective - a group formed to challenge the systemic issues around creativity and creative remuneration they perceive to be endemic in our industry.

What follows is a lively, meandering, and sometimes awkward discussion that navigates topics such as DEI, the democratisation of content commissioning, a hatred of modern content formats (shoutout to the “Death to TikTok” soundbite); and the odd attempt to remind people that good work does occasionally happen in this industry.

Honestly? I didn't have a great time. I couldn't help feeling we collectively missed a good opportunity to discuss some helpful and pragmatic ways to help freelancer creatives get better work. The right people were in the room. But the discussion just didn't get there.

And that’s reflective of the way this conversation tends to unfold right now. Wherever you look, LinkedIn, Substack newsletters and podcasts are full of commentary about falling freelancer rates, and how tough the business environment is right now for gigging creatives. Here’s one Matt wrote a few years ago, above.

And I get it. Budgets are shrinking, and AI is supposedly about to steal your lunch (though I’m not convinced). The mood is understandably pessimistic.

But what seems to be missing from these conversations are practical solutions, and a clear explanation of what brands actually want—and how creatives can meet them in a space that enables both sides to feel the value exchange is fair.

This panel discussion felt no different, and the only thing colder than that warehouse was my frosty ranting to Mr. Looking Sideways, Matt Barr, on the way to the exit.

So, Matt did what he does: challenged me to write something that could help the situation. And here we are.

Insights is my new Looking Sideways section, exclusively for my paid subscribing community.

It’s an absolute treasure trove of the - well - insights and wisdom imparted by over 250 Looking Sideways guests; as well as from the 25 plus years I’ve been pissing about for a living as a journalist, author, podcaster, business owner, mentor and speaker.

It’s where you’ll find exclusive blogs, podcasts, video chats, guest posts and articles all geared towards answering that two fundamental questions:

• How can I spend more time doing the things I’m passionate about?

• What does a ‘successful’ creative life actually look like?

Here are a few recent Insights articles to whet your appetite:

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At this point you can divide the response to the increasing ubiquity of generative AI into four broad categories.

In the early adopter camp are those who have decided it’s the future, and are jumping in zealously with both feet.

My contact with this community tends to comes via the 5 to 10 sales emails I’m currently receiving per day, sternly warning that if I don’t completely automate my agency with immediate effect, the company will self-destruct within a matter of months.

Or it’s on LinkedIn, where they post things like ‘Interested in learning how I used ChatGPT to automate my 18-step morning routine habit stack? Comment ‘YIBBLE’ to find out more and I’ll send you the secret sauce’.

Then there are the dabblers: a larger constituency who are fairly au fait with tech, and realise with a sinking heart that they’d probably better get with the programme at some point soon.

They’ve pissed about with Midjourney and Chat GPT’s Studio Ghibli thing; and begrudgingly accept that using Granola for note-taking, Claude for copy-editing, and Apple Intelligence for instant transcriptions has made their life better. (I put myself in this camp, for what it’s worth):

This constituency are increasingly the target market for the increasing number of early adopting agencies and entrepreneurs pitching generative AI in a very particular way.

In this beguiling telling, AI is a short cut (basically: we write the prompts; you use them) to the sunlit uplands of more time for more (ahem) ‘deep work’.

See David Hieatt’s ‘The Fifth Day’ course (‘for the founder who wants a life, not just a business’) for a sophisticated version of this pitch aimed at solo entrepreneurs, for example.

Then there’s the vast majority, who are too busy living actual lives, have vaguely heard of AI, have no idea what it really is, certainly have no idea how much it has infiltrated their lives already, and have no intention of exploring the topic more any time soon. For right or wrong, I would put almost all of my friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances in this group.

Alpenglow Journal

Unplugged #12: The Meta book heist, tall fences and old trees, growing is painful, and the pursuit of perfection

A reminder that I am now cross-posting entries on both alexroddie.com and Substack. For more info, read this FAQ. Please feel free to subscribe using whichever platform you prefer…

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a year ago · 20 likes · 13 comments · Alex Roddie

Finally, there are the die-hard none-adopters, who see it is a scourge on … well pretty everything. Resources. Creativity. Employment prospects. The fabric of society. The quality of discourse. Whatta ya got?

And it’s a proud member of the latter constituency who actually inspired this latest Open Letter exchange: my pal , editor of Sidetracked and , self-professed AI Luddite (a word he uses deliberately, knowing full well the provenance of this particular phrase, and the emotional freight it carries), and defiant generative AI party-pooper.

In the last months, Alex has been posting a series of passionate polemics (like the one above) that argue strongly against the way we are creeping into an AI future without fully interrogating the ethical, creative and societal implications.

It is fairly common (at least on my timelines) to see people taking this position in some vague ‘but … what about the energy usage?’ sense. But I haven’t seen anybody make the point as forcefully and convincingly as Alex. OK, maybe apart from Ken (below).

So I asked him (Alex, not Ken) if he’d be interested in debating his views with another friend James Carson, who runs an agency called Absolutely Agentic, through which he offers ‘AI consulting and automation for content companies’.

I did some work with James about a decade ago. Since then, I’ve followed him on LinkedIn, where, like Alex, he gently challenges the standard cliches and shibboleths of the AI debate, albeit from the other side of the argument. Happily, they both agreed.

As with previous Open Letter exchanges, this conversation is about understanding different perspectives, not skewering one particular constituency or viewpoint.

(You can catch up with a couple of previous back-and-forths using the links below:)

Here’s how this one unfolded. Have a read and let me know what you think.

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1. James Carson:

Dear Alex,

In the last three years, generative AI has pretty much impacted every type of creative medium: image, text, video and game development - in roughly that order.

What was initially an unreliable assistant can now create outputs of very high standard in image and text, and it’s only a matter of time before the same occurs with more complex generations like video.

I think we can tie ourselves in knots about the ethical quandaries relating to AI and copyright. But the genie is out of the bottle, and there’s little we can do about it.

We can complain and refuse to use it, but I can’t see how that will help. Regulation has proven far too slow and muddled on earlier technology like social media for complaining to have much impact.

I’d also argue that copyright theft on social media has long been rife and the law never really caught up. The double edge to the sword is there will inevitably be a ton of people who use it effectively, regardless. They’ll likely be able to have a much higher rate of productivity, and consistently high quality, if they already have pre—existing creative skills. This puts the refuseniks at a severe disadvantage in an economy dominated by AI.

And it will be dominated by it - AI is likely to be the most transformational technology in history. Getting with the programme is no longer optional.

Yours,

James

2. Alex Roddie:

Hi James,

I disagree that AI can produce work at a genuinely high standard – unless you set the bar low. It's always going to be a fake semblance of human communication or, at best, a technically accomplished rehash devoid of meaning or nuance.

To dismiss valid ethical concerns around AI is to play into the hands of power-hungry tech companies who think they can break the law without consequences. It also shows contempt for creatives. I agree that governments have failed to regulate big tech, but that isn't an argument for giving up – especially now the stakes are higher.

The problems creatives face have nothing to do with poor productivity or barriers to quality. Creatives struggle with poor-paying, precarious work because big tech has blown up profitable business models. Making creative work faster or more efficient doesn't make it better and in the long term it will only further degrade pay in creative sectors.

Creativity comes from doing the thinking as you create the work. Avoid this and creativity evaporates. What about those entering the workplace? Where are they going to develop their own unique taste and perspective? You're describing a race to the bottom.

Creatives can compete by developing valuable skills and their own human perspective, then focusing on sectors that value these things. Others can automate themselves out of the workplace if they wish.

Finally, there is no evidence that AI will be the most transformative technology in history. In fact, there's little evidence it's even profitable.

Alex

3. James Carson:

Dear Alex,

Part of the problem of 'all or nothing' thinking about creativity and AI is that the presentation of quandaries and ambiguities can be framed as 'dismissals' and 'contempt for creatives'. It’s possible to be ‘creative’ and see the benefits of AI. I put myself in both camps. But this is as much one of the perils of debating emotive topics as anything else.

A similar generalisation problem plays out when it comes to definitive statements such as ‘AI can’t produce work to a high standard’.

If the image above had been created by a human five years ago, it’s difficult to imagine people would describe it as low quality. If an AI video like this can tell an educational story of an extinct animal that teaches young children about environmental issues, does that not have value?

Regarding productivity - before AI video editors were painstakingly transcribing and inputting subtitles onto videos. Now an hour-long task is compressed into seconds. In this case, not taking advantage of the technology means losing hours to your competition: ie, someone using AI.

30m+ creative people are subscribed to Adobe Creative Cloud - which increasingly has generative AI features. This huge user base is counter to the general charge that AI is not profitable. Almost all software will have AI features added to it over the next five years.

It is accurate that OpenAI is not profitable, but it's just one company. Midjourney, which is an archetypal AI -based creative tool, is profitable - with $200m in annual revenue via under 50 employees. It is also not ‘Big Tech’. It hasn't taken investment.

While it's difficult to show 'evidence' for things that haven't happened yet, there is a huge amount of academic literature on the potential of AI, both good and bad. I admit I am concerned by some of the potential downsides. But I believe the upsides will be more significant and transformational. Does a survey of 2,778 academics count as ‘no evidence’?

James

4. Alex Roddie

Hi James,

Although I welcome your call for nuance, I wonder how this fits with arguments such ‘getting with the programme is no longer optional’, and framing legitimate concerns as ‘complaining’.

I have no objection to tech that’s developed in consultation with the people it will disrupt – if it primarily exists to empower them.

As I see it, most AI tools exist primarily to empower companies and managers looking to save costs – not creatives looking to produce better work, improve their earning potential, or find satisfaction by exercising different skills. I’ve seen no evidence that AI can do better work; only that it can do some things more quickly and cheaply, while requiring less skill.

Since the Industrial Revolution, such technologies always primarily benefit capitalists and managers. They’ve been used to eliminate roles, de-skill, and drive down wages. And for 200 years they have concentrated wealth at the top of the economic food chain. Where’s the empowerment in being forced to compete with others who use AI to do faster and cheaper work? We only have to look to the history books.

I’ve used Adobe's AI sky masking and denoise myself. They do save time, but the details can be iffy – you're better off putting more effort into taking a better initial picture. I also know professionals who resent the intrusive AI updates. Although Creative Cloud itself is profitable, I think it’s disingenuous to claim that’s due to the AI – there’s no evidence to support this.

A freelancer can choose not to outsource their decision-making to AI, instead using it to automate repetitive tasks – great. But what about a worker at an agency or publisher, told their job is less valuable because software can now do 70% of it?

I agree it’s a nuanced situation, but messages from prominent AI evangelists declaring the end of all creative jobs are far from nuanced. The fact that creatives were not even considered before our work was stolen to train these tools speaks volumes. Given these aggressive attacks, I believe resistance is a moral imperative.

Progress is never equal. But technology can and should be developed equitably.

Alex

5. James Carson

Hi Alex

I don't believe AI will be optional, but I do believe in nuance. For example, that you've stated your opposition to AI, while also admitting you use it, is a nuanced case.

To take your points in turn:

We'd all like to capture better content in the first place, but at times that's not possible. If you record an interview and there's someone blowing leaves outside and you can't get them to stop, that's not really anyone's fault. These absurd scenarios are irritatingly common, yet AI can help sort them out quickly.

If a technology increasingly becomes a prevalent feature of existing profitable software, then of course it contributes to profit. As I say, beyond Adobe there are plenty of AI startups that have achieved profitability (see above).

The list will go on.

The interpretation of the Industrial Revolution is interesting, but it's not one I'm familiar with, and I find it pessimistic. I say that as an editor of two history books which sold pretty well. While that event was disruptive if you were, say, a handweaver; the overall benefits in terms of societal wealth were vast.

Prior to it, most people were living shorter lives governed by the seasons, working on patches of land owned by a landlord. i.e, they were literally peasants.

Life is vastly better now than it was in 1750. AI has the potential to make similar transformations far more rapidly. Implying that the only beneficiaries of technology are capitalists is to look at history through a Robin Hood lens.

When it comes to this ides that AI means the end of all creative jobs: who are the prominent AI evangelists saying this? I don't see many 'prominent' people saying that - largely attention seekers on social media.

Finally: I don't doubt that some of it appears pervasive, but AI has also arrived with overwhelming force. Thus it has a certain inevitability.

Cheers

James

6. Alex Roddie

Dear James,

It’s been an interesting discussion and I’ve learnt a lot from it, although if anything I’m more worried now than I was at the start! Nevertheless, thanks for engaging in a respectful manner.

I totally agree that AI isn’t going away, and you’re right that some people will figure out a way to profit from it. It certainly isn’t useless! But no technology is inevitable. Development happens due to management decisions. These can either be made with the consent of workers, for their benefit, or not.

As I write this, Duolingo has just announced they plan to replace contract workers with AI.

Sam Altman, probably the most prominent AI evangelist, has said: '95% of what marketers use agencies, strategists, and creative professionals for today will easily, nearly instantly and at almost no cost be handled by the AI.’

It worries me that your knowledge of the Industrial Revolution seems to be a little one-dimensional. I agree that life, for most people, is better now than it was in 1750. But it took over well a century for life to materially improve for the artisans whose professions were eliminated. The factory system led to an era of misery for British working people. Entire ways of life were destroyed.

For multiple generations, previously skilled craftspeople were trapped in a system where they earned less money doing less engaging work, had less freedom, spent less time with their families or in contact with nature, and died younger. These are all well-documented facts.

Apart from a small number of wealthy industrialists, the Industrial Revolution made almost everyone’s lives worse for many decades until things gradually started to improve for the majority. It also caused the climate change that may eventually end civilisation as we know it, but that’s an aside!

I see history repeating itself. I see direct attacks being made against my profession and calling, and I’m not going to take them lying down.

I’m not arguing for a halt to progress. I’m arguing for craft and integrity. I’m arguing for us to be intentional with how technology is adopted, honest about who it will benefit, and to think about what we want human creative work to be in the future.

Yours,

Alex

What did you think of this exchange? Do Alex and James reflect your views on AI and creativity? How do you think we should approach the challenges ahead? Let me know using the button below:

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The news that Natural Selection will expand to include mountain biking, skiing and surfing was delivered by a glitzy trailer of the type we’re accustomed to by now from Travis Rice films, anything associated with Red Bull, or Transformers movies.

In summary:

Epic verbiage. Moody synths. Extreme close-ups of eyeballs, snowflakes, water droplets, etc. Smash cuts and drum beats. Time lapses of weather. Splashing, wooshing, rumbling. Heavy breathing.

The script:

(Ellipsis denotes dramatic pauses.)

“There exists a certain type of person…who plays with forces beyond their control…they test the endurance of the human spirit…they seek the edge of human potential…and they triumph…when they connect…with my power…”

Full screen shot of earth from space.

(EARTH IS THE NARRATOR!?)

“This is not an extreme sport…this is peak existence…this is not a death wish…it’s a commitment to living…this is natural selection…the next evolution.”

Then, curiously, a text instruction:

“DON’T FORGET TO BREATHE”

(You know, just as a reminder, in case we’d forgotten. Or we’re so overawed by the trailer that we’d lost control of our basic faculties.)

So far, so Hollywood.

But also exactly what AI might produce with the prompt: “make me a trailer in the style of Red Bull.”

There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sure lots of clever, creative, well-funded, well-caffeinated people spent lots of time on it. It’ll pique interest and prick hairs for most people. Myself included. We’re only human. (Sub-standard humans, obviously. But don’t let that put you off.)

However, this isn’t a critique of the trailer, but rather a question of surfing’s place in the fold of action sports entertainment, and its suitability as a competitive sport.

You see, I’ve watched a lot of professional surfing. As tour reporter for Beachgrit, I spend untold (and largely unsociable) hours and days watching WSL events.

It’s not a glamorous gig. The problems with surfing as competition are many. It takes too long. It lives and dies by the vagaries of weather. The judging criteria is entirely subjective. It’s not relatable to a general audience.

Most importantly: the majority of surfers, millions worldwide, couldn’t care less about it, because it conveys nothing of their surf experience.

Competition is for sport. Something with players or teams. Clear winners and losers. Static, predictable playing surfaces. Objective performance criteria. Marked lines, goalposts, targets, scoreboards.

Surfing is a pastime. Perhaps a lifestyle choice. I won’t embellish it as art, but I wouldn’t scoff at that definition either.

Natural Selection evolved from a feeling that snowboarding competitions didn’t reflect the culture. We could debate whether organised competition can ever embody a culture, but if you believe it can, there’s certainly a case for change in surfing. The ISA (International Surfing Association) is recognised by the Olympic committee as surfing’s governing body, but it is the more glamorous WSL (World Surf League) that Natural Selection hopes to challenge.

And there is a lot to take on here. The WSL veers wildly from bumbling failure to Orwellian dystopia: sponsorships from brands that make ladders and noodles; wilful ignorance of controversies, athletes’ voices and judging cock-ups; elite-level greenwashing; tone-deaf corporate flim-flam; mysterious disappearances of CEOs; mysterious presences of the likes of Kaipo Guerrero.

All of which equates to a product which can be borderline unwatchable, and most certainly does not represent “surf culture”. (Whatever that is.)

Clearly, Natural Selection thinks it can do better. But it’s a bold, and perhaps flawed assertion. It’s also a poisoned chalice. The list of ASP and WSL executives who’ve supped from it hopefully then wilted away is testament to that.

There IS a hardcore fanbase for pro surfing. But we’re talking tiny numbers. Four digits, at best. So the goal in a newly imagined surfing competition must be to reach beyond this, to make it watchable for the action sports fan at large, and maybe even more mainstream sports fans.

So with all that in mind, how exactly WILL Natural Selection reinvent pro surfing?

Use my code LOOKINGSIDEWAYS at checkout for 20% off any purchase from Goodrays.

Beyond the trailer, information is thin on the ground. I’ve heard eight men and four women (so much for gender parity). I’ve heard a tropical Pacific location. According to NS, Nathan Florence and Rob Machado will be involved in advisory roles.

But what can they do to make it fresh? And is there just too much nuance in surfing to convey on screen? Sure, drones and GoPros have made some inroads, but nothing really comes close to the reality.

Surfing is one of those things that often feels better than it looks. Like eating chicken wings. Or raving. Or sex. It’s a lot more fun to do than it is to watch. Of course it’s a tantalising commodity. But I’d predict this latest RedBullification will be another failed attempt to transform abstract pleasure into engaging viewing.

Snowboarding and mountain biking have the advantage in that most people have ridden a bike or experienced heights. Everyone can marvel at massive jumps or high speed. Airs in surfing will always look mundane in comparison. Surfing might feel faster than other things, but there’s no way of communicating that to a viewer.

Case in point: my dad, who’s just turned eighty, likes to cycle a ten-mile road loop from his house. He does it in wellies and ski gloves and refuses to wear a helmet, so he’s not exactly a cyclist. He was, however, a trawlerman and sailor all his life, so he knows a thing or two about the sea. You’d think, then, that surfing would hold some appeal. But he can’t even feign interest in a WSL heat.

Yet I remember one Christmas showing him a Danny MacAskill clip. You’d think I’d parted the Irish Sea and shown him where all the langoustine were hiding. For the next six months or so it was his go-to topic of conversation. The poor postie probably had to watch it a couple of times a week.

Surfing’s not an easy thing to understand. Only a surfer knows the feeling, went the old Billabong tag line. They’re still right.

And the problem is not just that surfing is difficult to contextualise for a general audience. The problem is that even for a highly educated one it’s often just…dull.

Worse: it can be irritating. A concept best understood by the German neologism “gluckschmerz” - the feeling of pain on account of someone else’s pleasure. Watching people get good waves in exotic locations will do that to you.

Consider how much of surfing is simply waiting. Waiting for winds, for swell, for tides. Waiting in the line-up. Waiting for crowds to thin. Waiting for a good one. Waiting in airports, in traffic, on ferries. Waiting at your desk in cloying agony, knowing that even if everything aligns for your few precious weekends or holidays, you’ll still need to wait.

For an example of how painfully inadequate competitive surfing can be, consider the Olympics. In round three we witnessed peak Teahupo’o, and in Gabriel Medina we saw absolute mastery. It was the moment that led to That Photo. It was a day of competition when we should’ve been handing out gold medals, world titles, knighthoods, Blue Peter badges…the lot.

But of course we didn’t. Competition rolled on to the next day, and the next. The waves got smaller, then they disappeared. Medina couldn’t even catch one for long, yawning stretches. Competitors scraped the Teahupo’o line-up for dribbly one-footers. Then they handed out medals. It was shambolic, humiliating. I felt embarrassed for the men and women forced to compete in conditions that made their sport look ridiculous.

Insights is my new Looking Sideways section, exclusively for my paid subscribing community.

It’s an absolute treasure trove of the - well - insights and wisdom imparted by over 250 Looking Sideways guests; as well as from the 25 plus years I’ve been pissing about for a living as a journalist, author, podcaster, business owner, mentor and speaker.

It’s where you’ll find exclusive blogs, podcasts, video chats, guest posts and articles all geared towards answering that two fundamental questions:

How can I spend more time doing the things I’m passionate about?

What does a ‘successful’ creative life actually look like?

Find out more:

None of this is revelatory. The problems with surfing competitions are well established. The term “rebel tour” will be bandied around, just as was when Derek Hynd tried to take pro surfing to the Outer Hebrides, holding a test event with an eclectic group of surfers. Or when Kelly Slater et al stirred rumours of a breakaway tour which never materialised.

But surfing hasn’t been rebellious for decades. OG surf brands compete for hanger space in TK Maxx. Prince Harry and Lewis Hamilton could log more tube time in a fortnight than you might in five years, simply because they can afford it.

A true rebel tour would dirty things up a bit. Make surfing more grimy, not more polished. Surfing needs tension to be a compelling sport. Take it somewhere we’ve never seen. Ideally somewhere cold, remote and hostile. Everyone can understand the cold. Tropical waves will never be as intimidating as dark, freezing ones. Take the athletes and crew out of their comfort zone and you have ready made tension.

Pick surfers for quality of character above talent. Surfers who aren’t afraid to ruffle feathers. People who want to win. Otherwise we’re just watching a bunch of bros on a surf trip. We need rivalries.

(And, I hate to say it, but there’s nothing that would appeal to a wider audience more than the possibility of a few big fish in the line-up. Natural Selection, indeed.)

It’ll take more than flashy trailers and format changes to evolve surfing into a sport more people want to watch.

How should Natural Selection shake up surfing? Let me know what you think of Jamie’s take:

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Thanks so much.

I'm grateful to be here, and tickled to be asked to kick off today's ceremony with a few short words about what the spirit of adventure means to me, and my experiences as a judge for this year's awards.

I've been fortunate to forge an especially unorthodox career in adventure, as a writer, journalist, podcaster and business owner.

And my own understanding of adventure began as a kid growing up in Manchester, in the late 80s and early 1990s.

I grew up obsessed by action sports: first skateboarding; and then, soon after, snowboarding and surfing.

When I first discovered these activities, they were attractive to me for many reasons. As a subculture. As a physical challenge. As a means of finding an identity at a crucial age. But also a means of self-expression.

I was just fortunate enough to interview legendary skateboarder and musician Tommy Guerrero for my podcast Looking Sideways and he described skateboarding as 'a vehicle for your voice'.

And that's exactly what these activities have always been for me. And still are, 30 or so years later.

These pursuits also introduced me to the importance of travel. If you're into any of these activities, especially if you're from the UK, then you are a traveller by default. And they opened my eyes to vistas far beyond the grey corners of my own Mancunian existence.

As did the books I began to voraciously read at the same time. And looking back, it's clear that literature had an equally important role in fuelling my sense of self, and hunger for adventure, from an early age.

And this is where Wilbur Smith, who I first encountered back in 1990, when I was a 14-year-old working at Stretford Carpet Centre in Manchester, played a crucial role.

That was my second job, and it's fair to describe it as another formative experience. I spent my days playing darts, fielding dead arms from Joey, my boss, and discovering the works of Wilbur Smith.

Like a lot of working class people who had left education early but still burned with a ferocious intelligence, Joey was a prolific reader. He had the Courtney Sequence on his shelf, and one day I picked up A Sparrow Falls. Nope, he insisted, you have to read them in order, which I did.

As many people at that age do, I read the lot in one go, and they helped to open my eyes to the way books and history could equally be a vehicle through which to find a means of adventurous self-expression.

This different ways into this notion of ‘adventure’ eventually coalesced to became my career. Initially, I was fuelled by an urge to escape my hometown, and do as much snowboarding and surfing as possible.

Later, as I began to develop my career as a journalist, those formative reading experiences began to exert their influence on me, and further inform my own understanding of what adventure could be.

It's what led to me organising a snowboarding trip to Iran back in 2005, for example. Sure, I wanted to go and ride the spectacular mountains north of Tehran, which I knew snowboarder Craig Kelly had visited.

But I also wanted to see the renowned Timurid architecture of Isfahan, which I'd read about in Robert Byron's Road to Oxiana, with my own eyes.

It was a similar story when I decided to swim the Hellespont, the 7km stretch of water that separates Europe and Asia, inspired by Byron and Paddy Leigh Fermor. I’d suffered a broken collarbone, and decided to spend the rehab period prepping for that.

Or the time I arranged another snowboarding trip to Uzbekistan after reading F.M. Bailey's classic Mission to Tashkent, which I based our itinerary on, and which later inspired a film script I wrote years later.

And it's this mixture of bookishness and adventurous pretentiousness that meant I was so thrilled when Georgina and Charlotte asked me to help judge this year's Wilbur Smith Awards. It was a full circle moment for me, and it was something I didn't take lightly.

And, as you'll know if you've read the shortlist, here we have six remarkable books, and six remarkable authors, who also have unique and clearly defined takes on what adventure means, and who through their work help us as readers rediscover it anew for ourselves.

Here, we find adventure recast in various different beautiful ways:

Whether it's through the heartbreaking story of Pietro and Massimo in wartime Italy in The Curse of Pietro Houdini.

The high seas picaresque that is Saltblood.

Obie's subtle, delicate journey through post same-sex prohibition Nigeria in Blessings.

Our Hideous Progeny's queer, feminist recasting of the Frankenstein story.

Hard by a Great Forest's savagely hilarious investigation into generational trauma and post-Iron Curtain geopolitics.

Or Light Over Liskeard's sly pre-apocalyptic musings.

Here is adventure defined in endless ways, each as varied and thrilling as the last.

As is probably becoming clear by now, adventure, whether physical or literary, has been one of the keys driving forces of my life. It has shaped my career, my worldview, and my understanding of human experience.

The works we celebrate today do the same, pushing the boundaries of what adventure can mean, and inspiring readers to embark on their own journeys of discovery.

And I hope you will agree that in Saltblood we have chosen a worthy winner.

Thank you.

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For surfers, waves are everything. We chase them, we ride them, we talk about them endlessly. But how many of us truly understand them?

The concept behind this book began years ago, with an article I published in Surfer’s Path magazine. The editor, Alex Dick-Read, casually mentioned he was looking for a ‘wave expert’ to write an article describing all the different types of waves in the Universe. Despite not being the physicist or academic he probably had in mind, I convinced him to let me compile a short, alphabetical list of waves.

Looking back, that first article wasn't great. It included waves irrelevant to surfing, and I even had to add some theoretical ones to fill out the alphabet. But it planted a seed - an idea that stayed with me and eventually grew into this book.

What started as a simple list has evolved into something much more: a unique list of waves, tailored for those who love the sea but don't want to drown in physics textbooks.

This isn't your typical wave science tome. You won't find dense equations or impenetrable jargon here. Instead, imagine a surfer's guidebook to waves - 34 chapters, each one a bite-sized exploration of a different type of wave or surf spot. From A-frames to river mouths, from tidal bores to the incredible 'morning glory' sky wave (which is, believe it or not, a 3000-foot-high surfable wave), we cover it all in language that's accessible and engaging.

What makes this book unique? Think of it as ‘random access' - designed for the curious mind that wants to dip in and out. Each chapter stands alone, allowing you to explore at your own pace. It's for the surfer who wants to understand why that perfect barrel forms, but can also be read by anybody who spends a lot of time on the coast or in the ocean, and anyone who's ever stood at the shore and wondered, "Why does the ocean do that?"

As a taster, here are five things that all surfers, whatever their level, will get from Waves.

1. You’ll get a better insight into where waves come from, and why they behave the way they do.

Waves delves into the mysteries of wave formation and behaviour. You'll discover why the first day of a big, clean winter swell offers the most powerful and lined-up waves. You’ll also learn why some beachbreaks shovel the wave energy into peaks when there is no defined sandbar setup.

For instance, you'll learn why a set of six waves might break consistently in one spot, only for all the waves in the next set to break in another spot. These powerful, hollow waves that allow for short tube rides before fading out are not random occurrences - there's fascinating science behind their formation.

Understanding these patterns will transform your perspective on the waves you ride.

2. You’ll learn why, sometimes, the forecast doesn’t tell you everything about the swell.

Ever arrived at the beach to find conditions drastically different from the forecast? Waves will equips you with the knowledge to understand why, and help you read between the lines of the average swell forecast.

Take a classic scenario: a forecast predicting four feet at 12 seconds, with a light southerly wind: conditions on which your favourite beachbreak absolutely thrives.

And yet, when you turn up, the truth is very different: waves with a ‘sidewinder’ or ‘corkscrew’ shape, that ruin the swell and make the waves frustrating and sectiony. The crew are angry, disappointed and bewildered.

Why does this happen, and how can you predict this nasty little side-swell? Waves will help you understand.

3. You’ll learn more about what’s going on when it’s big, which will boost your confidence..

Knowledge is power, especially when facing big waves, and Waves provides insights that can turn intimidating situations into manageable challenges.

Every surfer, whatever their level, has paddled out into waves way beyond their paygrade. On a big day, it might be difficult even to get off the beach. You stand at the shore as a giant tongue of water rushes towards you. As it turns around and sucks back out, you jump into the flow. About 30 metres out, you hit this wall of water that collapses in front of you and pushes you back up the beach again. It takes you ages to get out of this seemingly endless loop.

What exactly is going on here?

The book also demystifies set wave behaviour on bigger days. In big waves, everybody knows never to take off on the first wave of the set. But sometimes, each subsequent wave becomes more wobbly, bumpy and ledgy, and to take off on them would spell disaster. The first one was much cleaner.

Why is this case, and what’s really the smart choice? Waves will help you understand.

4. You’ll be thinking about the waves, not the people around you

Call me a romantic if you like, but surfing is all about connecting with nature. Waves will help you focus on this connection by giving you a deeper understanding of the ocean's dynamics.

Instead of thinking about doing a better top turn than that other guy, or why that kid keeps paddling inside everybody, or who might be watching or taking photos from the beach, you'll find yourself absorbed in the waves themselves.

You'll start noticing subtleties in wave behaviour that you might have overlooked before. This heightened awareness not only improves your surfing but also deepens your appreciation for the ocean's complexity and beauty.

5. It will enhance your surfing experience, even in poor conditions

The whole point of this book – and a lot of the stuff I write – is to try to make people aware that the ocean is really a wonderful natural playground; how it can enhance your daily experience and make you a happier person. Having some background knowledge about the waves can give you a richer experience of surfing, in and out of the water.

In the same way, getting out there among the waves can add meaning to all that theory. It’s a feedback loop, just like a cat chasing its tail, a snowball rolling down a hill, or the very mechanisms that generate waves on the ocean.

To find out more about Tony’s book and order a copy, click here.

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Reading it made me realise that this perspective, and voices like Polly’s, are missing from this ‘debate’.

I was glad for the opportunity to reconsider the way I think about and discuss this issue. So I asked Polly if I could publish her letter in full, which is what I’m resharing today.

Hi Matthew, 

So this email may wind up being rambly as I'm on a train. But having received the latest 10 Things mail this morning, I wanted to reach out about my reality and the ongoing debate about my right to exist that is being passed off as a philosophical debate across society.

My name is Polly. I am a 48 year old transwoman. I work as a bike messenger and I have surfed since I was 17. I was taught to surf by old school Irish watermen who were also mentors in a two-year outdoor instructor apprenticeship. I have never competed in anything as I have no interest in competition, and I have no desire for the only safe places I've ever known to be turned into mirrors of society.

When I transitioned, I lost a 20-year career in outdoor education which also included the loss of people that I had spent years travelling with both to surf and kayak rivers. Do I regret it? Not at all. In myself, I'm the happiest I've ever been. I still surf, I still sail and I can ride a bike like a maniac.

The debate stopped being about sport participation a long time ago, if it even ever was. My reality is so far removed from the whole thing that at this point the dissonance created by it is at the point of being overwhelming, and weekly it becomes harder and harder to marry up who I am with how I'm being talked about.

It's too late to worry about othering me. I'm already othered.

Water, bikes and skateboards taught me everything good about myself, and to be in a place where I’m constantly told I'm not allowed those things is harrowing.

I don’t know if any of this is particularly coherent. What I do know is while people continue to scream that I'm a monster, I'll still be bodysurfing and snorkelling amongst the cold water breaks of Scotland and I'll still be skating and bouldering and living off my bike chasing stoke, and when I do stay still I'll be making hand planes in the back garden.

Regards, 

Polly

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been completely fascinated by the reaction to the recent Just Stop Oil protest at Stonehenge.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, catch up here.

As I asked in a recent 10 Things dispatch: why are people angrier about this than they are about water companies charging us to repair their own failed systems while issuing record dividends, or by the recent stealthy dismantling of some of our powers of protest at the behest of the fossil fuel industry?

And it isn’t just the usual suspects frothing about ‘wokeism’ (a word I actually heard somebody in the wild use recently), ‘social justice warriors,’ and the like, either.

Many of my SAS-app consulting, Do Lectures-attending, Looking Sideways-subscribing pals were equally outraged.

As were grizzled protesting stalwarts like this commenter on last week’s 10 Things post.

So what exactly is going on here? Why ARE people so upset about this?

My own view can be summed up by this old line, usually attributed to George Bernard Shaw or Billy Wilder:

“If you want to tell people the truth, you’d better make them laugh or they’ll kill you.”

And (to absolutely nobody’s surprise), I’ve got a bit of a theory about it:

Anybody who is remotely paying attention knows that, at some point, significant individual and collective sacrifices will be required if we’re ever going to address something as vast and devastating as the global climate crisis.

It should happen during my lifetime, but probably won’t. But it’ll certainly happen during the lifetimes of the younger generations we’re already sharing the planet with, and who will be around long after fortysomethings like me have shuffled off. Blimey. Sounds a bit heavy when you put it like that, eh?

This is one reason why so many individuals, groups and factions are keen to pretend it isn’t happening.

And why even those of us who DO buy into it are still happy to fiddle while Rome burns, and also basically act as if it isn’t happening.

Sure, we’ll occasionally take our reusable cup to the coffee shop. We’ll do the recycling each week (even if we haven’t got a clue where it actually ends up). We’ll think about Yulex for our next wetsuit - but only if you can guarantee it performs as well as our beloved O’Neill steamer.

But in the main, most of us are not really engaging in any meaningful attempt to grapple with the scale and severity of the problem: other than vaguely hoping that something is going to come along that’ll magically sort this out in a way that causes us all the least possible inconvenience.

And, ideally, means we can all still go on holiday every year.

(Sidenote: I didn’t realise when I started writing it, but this is a key theme of my forthcoming series The Announcement, a three-part podcast documentary about Yvon Chouinard giving away Patagonia and making ‘earth our only shareholder’).

So there’s that.

But there’s another factor at play as well: the rather unwelcome truth that we are all enthusiastic participants in the most voraciously consumerist society to have ever lived on earth.

That sounds like total hyperbole, but it’s a pretty basic statement of fact.

It’s easy to think the way we live is the natural order of things. But there’s nothing historically normal about the rate at which we currently consume and destroy absolutely everything we can get our collective mitts on: minerals, animals, natural habitats, you name it.

Whether you like it or not, that fact makes it impossible to perpetuate the collective sleight-of-hand that could allow us to claim any emotional distance from the issue: as we kinda could when it came to the global movements of change that defined the previous two centuries, such as the abolition of slavery, universal suffrage and the civil rights movement.

(Of course, I know that we can’t genuinely claim any emotional distance from the other examples I cited above, either. My point is that enabling us to think that - for example - the British Empire WASN’T complicit in something like slavery is an outcome of us being taught about, say, Arkwright and his Spinning Jenny; rather than - for another - the fact that the cotton that was such a critical feature of the Industrial Revolution came from the slave societies of the West Indies and the American South, earning my hometown of Manchester the proud nickname of ‘Cottonopolis’ at the time. Awks! Anyway…)

As a society, we definitely prefer not to be reminded of this stuff, if that’s OK.

It’s a drag, and might prove a distraction from the serious business of, say, wandering through that sweet middle aisle at Lidl, persuading myself that, Mmmm, yes, I really should buy this knock-off espresso machine I never knew I wanted until about 30 seconds ago.

Why do you think people are so worked up about the National Trust right now? Why do you think the comment section underneath any Protect Our Winters post (above) is full of people yelling ‘hypocrite’, incandescent with rage?

And hence why raising awareness about this stuff while also bringing people along with you is such a fiendishly difficult task, requiring impeccable leadership and masterly communication skills (things all great movements of change have had in common).

And hence why (you knew I’d get to the point eventually) the Stonehenge protesters are essentially making themselves an easy target.

On a basic level, a load of people lobbing cornstarch at our most cherished archeological monument (“what has THAT got to do with climate change?!”) gives people a very welcome outlet for the subconscious guilt engendered by their own apathy.

This is why, personally, I thought it was a deeply clunky action, if only from a comms perspective.

Generally-speaking, tapping into peoples’ collective generational guilt is not really an effective communications tactic.

Why? I refer you back to that quote I posted at the beginning of this article. Here it is again, in case you missed it the first time around:

“If you want to tell people the truth, you’d better make them laugh or they’ll kill you.”

Like I say: it’s just a theory.

And perhaps you won’t be surprised to hear that said hot take has been received like …well, an extremely ice-cold take when I’ve road-tested it on a couple of mates. (Yep, I’ll see you in the comment section).

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But I think we can all agree, it IS an interesting topic of debate.

Which is why I decided to ask Tim LeRoy and Calum Macintrye, two friends who are equally passionate about climate change, but who disagree on the effectiveness of this type of direct action, to exchange views on the Stonehenge protest.

What did it say about the current protest movement, and the wider fight against the climate crisis in general?

Here’s how it went:

1. Tim LeRoy:

Dear Calum

As a friend pointed out to me, “when you’ve even lost the druids, you're probably heading in the wrong direction.”

I’ve been an environmentalist and activist for more than twenty-five years, but I’m afraid that I found myself agreeing with him and ‘King’ Arthur Pendragon who said that Just Stop Oil’s Stonehenge action “alienates any sympathy for their cause”.

I know that the stones weren’t harmed, and that none of the art or gardens or snooker tables or football pitches that have also been targeted will suffer any permanent damage. But people now want to shoot the orange messenger before even hearing the urgent message they’re bringing.

As a result, public perception of environmental activists is crashing, at a time when we desperately need our demands to be heard and to be taken seriously.

My increasing worry is that by targeting (mostly harmless) things that people enjoy, Just Stop Oil seems to be pointing the finger of blame at, and demanding solutions from, the people who have least responsibility.

The most successful trick the oil industry pulled was to make us as consumers feel responsible for cleaning up their mess. We’re all made hypocrites by the system we live in. Given that we can’t entirely stop using oil or plastics entirely, it’s unfair and unrealistic to put the onus on consumers.

So it isn’t that Just Stop Oil’s fundamental message isn’t correct. It’s more what it says to the public at large, to my mate, and to the druid king.

My fear is not only that JSO is adding to that false oil industry narrative. More worryingly, they’re making the environmental movement as a whole look like misguided vandals that can be dismissed in the press and the halls of power with one lethal phrase: ‘You are not serious people.’

Who at the snooker, or at Stonehenge, is responsible for international fossil fuel reduction or non proliferation treaties? Who has the power to instigate a move to a radical carbon-free economy? Alas, it ain’t the druids.

I do have very real admiration for your courage and integrity, and I know you had some important conversations after your pitch invasion. But how many were with real power-brokers or law-makers? How many government hearts were won and industrial minds were changed? I fear you’re only preaching to the converted.

With real respect and best wishes.

Tim

2. Calum Macintyre:

Dear Tim,

First of all I just want to say that I have struggled with a lot of these thoughts myself over the years. There are always constant doubts about whether certain actions are the right thing to do.

However, personally, I do think that the protest at Stonehenge was effective. I think disruptive protest is still the right thing for one flank of the climate movement to pursue.

I think that disruptive protests act like a fire alarm to wake people up. June was the twelfth straight month that the world was more than 1.5 degrees warmer than the pre-industrial era. This is not, as King Arthur Pendragon seems to think, some ‘cause’ that you can pick or choose whether to have sympathy for. We're on the precipice of catastrophe and it didn't even get a mention in Keir Starmer's acceptance speech last Friday.

I’m not convinced those in power listen to the ‘serious people’ anyway. After all, in 2021, Sir David King, the former chief scientific advisor to the UK Government, said, “What we do over the next 3 to 4 years, I believe, is going to determine the future of humanity”.

Evidently, he has not been taken very seriously. Scientists have been presenting the facts and information to people for the last 30 years, but we are still way off track.

I would be interested in whether there is concrete data to suggest that public support for environmental activists is ‘crashing’, as you suggest. In the UK, we just elected five Green MPs and a Labour government with a manifesto that included halting oil and gas licensing. In France, a left/green coalition just defeated the right-wing parties.

We have also tried to bring the message directly to those with power, the first thing most critics of the action suggest. The result? They criminalised us. The Just Stop Oil campaign started in 2022, by blocking oil terminals across the UK. It was highly effective. What did the oil companies do? They brought in injunctions that meant that anyone taking part in this kind of protest at an oil terminal can have their assets seized and even face prison.

The protest at Stonehenge was a global news story and spokespeople from Just Stop Oil were invited to speak on countless TV debates about the need for a Fossil Fuel Non-Proliferation Treaty. It's not about shaming individuals - it's about creating a conversation in society to change the political weather so that it becomes politically safe to finally regulate the fossil fuel industry.

Cheers,

Calum

3. Tim LeRoy:

Dear Calum,

You make very persuasive points, and the need to continue ringing the fire alarm is valid. However, I do think you underestimate the growing antipathy towards the orange paint protests, and I do think that they are counter-productive.

The fossil fuel lobby are looking for any way to legitimise the status quo. Painting those suggesting possible alternatives as naive idealists or anarchists is one of the few angles of attack they have left. These protests are just add fuel to their fire - especially because JSO’s targets seem so unrelated to the issue. Very few people can make the connection between the climate crisis and Stonehenge, or the Chelsea Flower Show.

I think that the time for trying to scare people into action has passed. Not that we’re out of danger - far from it - but because there are no ‘undecideds’ any more. People either know the climate is collapsing and are looking for real leadership, or they deny it and will fight dirty to hold on to their Range Rovers.

Another part of the problem is JSO’s name, and its implied lack of a credible-sounding solution. Insulate Britain had the advantage of carrying the message in the name. It seemed a reasonable and feasible solution - people could see how that would work and be put it into place, immediately. But even they quickly became pariahs, too, their message blocked by the anger unleashed by all those traffic jams.

Greenpeace has a long history of direct action against oil industry targets, but they have scaled them back in favour of policy making and litigation. Even Extinction Rebellion have understood that they need to stop antagonising and start collaborating in dynamic processes like citizen’s assemblies, that are proven to create effective and consensual policies that can quickly go through parliament.

To stop oil, we need to go and make laws.

As you point out, our political world now looks very different. Starmer has made it clear that he wants to be judged on getting things done, and an urgent clean energy transition is a flagship policy with a 2030 deadline.

So I think we activists now have to focus on the corridors of power and courts of justice. Put on our suits and go and ring the alarms in the places where they can actually put out the fires. We need to keep our MPs focussed and moving fast, and to do that we have to bring ordinary people with us, not spoil their fun.

Cheers,

Tim

4. Calum Macintyre

Dear Tim,

I agree with you that it is getting to the point where there are few undecideds anymore. However I'm not convinced that most people truly understand what climate collapse means. I think that if we did, every single one of us would be in the streets (and probably not that concerned about cornstarch on Stonehenge).

We just passed through 13 months where the world was above 1.5 degrees. That effectively means the Paris agreement has failed. James Hansen, the NASA scientist who alerted the world to climate change in the 1980’s, recently said “We are not moving into a 1.5C world, we are briefly passing through it in 2024”.

Supporters of Just Stop Oil are ordinary people - not political lobbyists. I could spend my time putting on a suit and talking to politicians. However, my voice would soon be drowned out by the queue of fossil fuel lobbyists queuing up behind me.

What can ordinary people really do in a democracy when our voices are drowned out by an entrenched power? I believe nonviolent civil disobedience is one of the strongest political tools that we have left.

You say that Insulate Britain became pariahs and their message got blocked in the traffic jams. Not according to research undertaken by Social Change Lab, which found that the campaign was actually extremely effective in getting the media and politicians to talk about home insulation. Within a matter of weeks, 90% of the UK public knew about the campaign. A separate NGO working on home insulation said of this visibility: "In the past we couldn’t get anyone interested in this issue… Insulate Britain changed that".

The same can be said for the Restore Wetlands campaign in Sweden. They disrupted society in order to generate a media revolution around the topic of restoring wetlands. Within two years every single major political party in Sweden now has the demand as a key part of its climate policy.

I also think it is easy for us to get the impression that social movements of the past were well-received. History tells us this is not the case. Martin Luther King Jr is revered as one of the great communicators of the last century - despite the fact that a poll conducted in August 1966 showed that King only had an approval rating of 33%.

As Hajar Yazdiha wrote in Time Magazine: "…by seeing King as the saintly patron of colour-blindness and peace, beloved by all, an exceptional hero that the US had not seen before and will never see again, it becomes possible to create a cultural disdain for civil disobedience in the present".

I completely agree with you that we need lots of us doing lots of different things - in the courts, corridors of power and in our own communities. However, I do think the radical flank is still an essential part of this ecology of change.

Cheers

Calum

5. Tim Le Roy

Thank you Calum

It’s really good to have my opinions and positions challenged, and being provoked to think about the urgency is especially valuable.

I do understand why nonviolent civil disobedience might feel like the only action for some, but I stand by everything I wrote before. I don’t think actions on cultural icons work. We have to make sure that we are bringing people with us and selling them a realistic vision of something much better. You can only scare someone into action if you simultaneously show them the solution.

Lately, I’ve been followed around the net by an ad that proves both our points. A chirpy engineer lady in red and yellow overalls is travelling around a sunshiny world in her EV, building wind turbines and fitting solar panels, and it ends with “Shell, powering the energy transition.”

The fossil fuel industry desperately wants to own what the future looks like, and how quickly we get there.

We cannot let them have the primary colours of hope, while our side is painted as the doom-mongers and fun-spoilers. Yes, it is an urgent existential threat, but boiling frogs don’t jump, no matter how loudly you yell.

Since you mentioned the great Dr King, I will too. “Those who love peace must learn to organise as effectively as those who love war.”

I hope this isn’t a clumsy analogy, but I grew up in the 80s under the very real fear of IRA bombs targeting innocent people. It was a godawful campaign and it wasn't until the republican movement focussed its efforts on Westminster and Stormont that they started to win hearts and minds. Sinn Féin is now the largest party across Northern Ireland, and at Westminster. They control the vision towards a united Ireland.

We have to be smarter than the oil companies. Better at being credible leaders who say, “Here’s the problem, here’s the dream, and here’s how we all get to the promised land.”

While you’re right about the queue of fossil fuel lobbyists, I disagree that not everyone cannot be effective political lobbyists.

Firstly, I’d encourage everyone to watch Sarah Corbett’s awesome TEDx talk ‘Activism needs introverts’. Her ‘gentle protest’ movement is a blueprint for highly effective persuasion for those who feel powerless or don’t want to take to the streets. Inspired by her talk, I wrote a piece a few years back about what worked for me, campaigning for SAS, which might help some people too.

I do feel the terrifying urgency that drives you, and MLK’s arc of justice feels more like a sine wave of up and down than a hairpin change. But to change the system you really do have to get inside and work the system.

Thank you again, sincerely. I suspect that JSO’s legacy will be a good one in the end.

Tim

6. Calum Macintyre

Thanks Tim,

I hear what you are saying about letting the fossil fuel industry have the primary colours of hope. I do agree with you that the climate movement could do much better on its communication - in a way that gives collective hope for the future. I also completely agree that we need more really good leaders who can bring people together and inspire lots of different types of action.

I think that is the key - as I said before, there has to be a diverse ecology of change. We need people working on organising citizens assemblies as well as people organising for direct action. I am not trying to argue that everyone should join Just Stop Oil and go and spray Stonehenge with cornstarch. But I do really believe that disruptive protest can give others the push to get involved in ways that they feel comfortable with. I know people who have joined groups like Friends of the Earth after being exposed to disruptive protest, for example, because they felt they wanted to do more.

Above all, I think it is really important that we tell the truth. There is no hiding the serious predicament the world is in. Whether the action at Stonehenge is a truly effective way of conveying the urgency of the situation and the need for countries to work together on a binding fossil fuel phase out treaty remains to be seen. But the environmental movement has been trying and failing to communicate the need for serious action for the last 30 years without success. I hope that those reading this spare some sympathy for the people desperately trying something different. They will face serious personal consequences, and it's important to remember again that there was no damage to the stones.

We have definitely got to change hearts and minds. I think it's fitting to finish with a quote from an article in the Telegraph last week (a paper that has not been the biggest cheerleader for JSO over the years!), in which Ambrose Evens-Pritchard wrote:

“Just Stop Oil has always said it was wishful thinking to imagine that the oil incumbents could ever be part of the solution. I hate to say that may have been right all along”.

To me, this represents this slow and important process of winning those hearts and minds in different areas of society, while offering an alternative narrative for the future than the one pushed on us by the fossil fuel industry.

Thanks very much for the discussion Tim - it's been really valuable to get your take on all this stuff and it has made me really reflect on the different ways we are all working and how we can be most effective.

Look forward to chatting with you more.

Calum

What did you think of this exchange? Do they reflect your views on the climate crisis? How do you think we should approach the challenges ahead? Has it changed your view on direct action? Let me know:

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I go way back with my old cobber Ben Mondy, one of my closest pals and one of surf journalism’s essential and most original voices. With most surf outlets vanishing by the month, I recently persuaded Mondog to set up on Substack, where he is currently banging out the best, most informative surf writing on here (oh, and Rod Cunthorpe).

Sign up below if you haven’t yet.

SURF BUGLE

Come for Rod Cunthorpe, stay for the all-access surf journalism, humour, exclusive athlete interviews and travel writing.

By Ben Mondy

Ben has also been hard at work putting together his latest opus, the 256-page, coffee table-worrying tome that is his new Breitling Book of Surfing, released worldwide on Tuesday April 2nd.

The schtick? Here’s Ben:

‘The book examines various surf communities around the world, as seen through the prism of an eclectic mix of surfers. I had good access to heavy hitters like Kelly Slater, Steph Gilmore, Mikey February, Cotty and Jeremy Flores.

However, I probably enjoyed writing the less-known stories more: people like Greece’s Effie Vrakas, Sweden’s Freddie Meadows, and Italy’s Roberto D’Amico, to name a few. The imagery is amazing, and there’s been serious coin thrown at the art direction and the production. Breitling called it “as much an in-depth travelogue as it is a beautiful photography book.” And who I am to argue?’

Click here to snag your own copy. Or, if you’re a paid subscriber, DM me using the button below to tell me why you should win one of the two free copies Mondy and the Breitling team have kindly donated to celebrate the launch.

In the meantime, Mondy has kindly shared four things he’s learned from the process of pulling this monster together. Read on for more…

1. The Best Surfers Don’t Always Have The Best Stories

Probably a rather obvious statement. But as much as I loved digging into Kelly’s life, or Steph Gilmore’s state of mind (“I just look at my dad. He surfs every day and he’s almost 70. I’m constantly inspired by his passion for being active and living a life that has surfing and the ocean at the heart of it. That’s what I call real success.”), it was unravelling relatively unknown surf stories that I most enjoyed.

Like Sweden’s Freddie Meadows camping in the Baltic Sea for six weeks, alone, on the hunt for a wave that may or may not break. Or Paul Duvignau’s (above), who’s DIY ethos and dedication to La Nord makes him surfing’s renaissance man. Or how about Brazilian Ciao Vaz, surely the only SUP World Champ, Nazare charger AND famous soap actor. Of course, every surfer has a story. Turn out that some are better than others.

2. Kelly’s Still Got It, Whatever It is

All that said….

I’ve been lucky enough to interview Kelly Slater more than half a dozen times in the last 25 years. I’ve also generally ‘been around’ him at events and free surfs, and have watched him operate at close quarters, floating around like a tiny bit of space dust in his stellar orbit. I don’t always see eye-to-eye on his social media output, and worry his ongoing non-retirement may affect his legacy.

And yet, when Kelly stares at you with those emerald eyes (swoon), and talks at length about surfing, what it means to him and why he’s still do driven, it does feel like an incredible privilege.

“I remember being in the first grade and saying to myself; 'I think I'm a surfer.' I felt I was kind of part of this tribe,” he told me. “I’d always been a bit of an outsider, but then I was inside this thing. And I still am.”

Hopefully, this chapter conveys the eternal lure of the GOAT.

3. Origin Stories Matter

An ongoing highlight for me was uncovering the frequently hilarious origin tales at the root of some of your favourite pros’ surfing addictions. Take Andrew ‘Cotty’ Cotton, who’s parents signed him up for his local Croyde Boardriders in one last attempt to stave off his hyperactivity after swimming and lifesaving had failed.

Then there’s the mental image of a 12 year-old Freddie Meadows thrashing around in the Baltic while wearing two wetsuits, dishwashing gloves, and a beanie under a swimming hat, while attempting to master a windsurf he’d ‘borrowed’ from under a neighbour’s house.

My favourite by miles, though, was undoubtedly Italian Roby D’Amico, who would sit watching the flat summer Mediterranean Sea at the front of his house, while waiting for the daily 7pm ferry from Sardinia to Fiumicino. Its huge wake would send waves toward the rocky shore, giving this frothing grom the chance to ride one wave - or two if he was lucky.

He may have been the only surfer on the only rideable waves for hundreds of miles. And the only one who learned to surf with a timetable.

4. Serious People In Surfing Can Be A Good Thing

Look, I've been around long enough to know the endgame of this book is to sell expensive timepieces. And of course, on paper, a luxury Swiss watch brand peddling and meddling in surf culture should be a cause for alarm.

And yet, having worked closely with some of the clowns who have run ‘core’ surf publishers over the years, I feel qualified to say that having serious people with a clear message; proper, accountable budgets, and a genuine sense of curiosity for this thing called surfing was a breath of fresh air.

Even better, by concentrating on community; and by examining surfers from a wide breadth of ages, backgrounds and experiences; there is, hopefully, a sense of authenticity that pervades the book.

Mind you, I would say that, wouldn’t I?

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Plus - welcome to HKC Discount Club to my pals at Finisterre! Yep, my legendary Cornish pals are offering a 10% discount for all LS readers and listeners. Just use Finisterre discount code LOOKINGSIDEWAYS at checkout to save 10% on your purchase 😎

To check out the growing list of HKC Club partners, click here. And if any other brands want to get involved, noise me up and let’s talk…

I’m just back from a week in France’s Three Valleys, where I had a really brilliant time catching up with old friends and generally re-acquainting myself with one of my favourite corners of the world, a whopping 26 years after my first winter season in Meribel.

Anecdotally, it was also fascinating on the ‘Wow! Look how much THIS place has changed!’ level.

A few cases in point: the locals saying that the days of the season beginning in late November or early December, something we planned our late 90s seasons around, were long gone.

Or the number of oligarch super-pads lining the pistes on the run down into Courchevel 1650.

Or the fact that we (OK, ill-advisedly) did a classic itinerary run off the top of the Olympic Express, and found ourselves doing the type of bush-whacking that is usually a feature of April, rather than February.

Personal anecdotes and observations such as this aren’t exactly trustworthy as data, of course.

But they do reflect the increasingly widespread feeling that irreversible change is coming to this part of the world, whether we realise it or now.

If you’ve listened to my recent conversation with Re-Action Collective’s Gavin Fernie-Jones (above), who lives in the valley town of Bozel, you’ll recall that this was a big theme of our conversation.

That ski resorts, reliant as their economies are on climate-dependent tourism, are the proverbial canary-in-the-coal-mine when it comes to the climate issue, and the approaches and attitudes we have when it comes to tackling it.

At the moment, as with the wider conversation around the climate crisis, this debate tends to devolve to one fairly binary question:

Do we continue to put our faith in existing economies, and try and ‘business’ our way out of it (which is a key theme of my forthcoming podcast documentary series The Announcement)?

Or do we use this situation as an opportunity to explore different ways of living?

All of which explains why one looming local issue in particular caught my attention during my visit: the proposed gondola that will apparently link the valley town of Bozel with Courchevel, in time for the 2030 Olympics, which are rumoured to be heading for this part of France.

For some locals, the gondola sounds like a no-brainer. It’ll help with the transition to summer tourism, cut traffic and ease pollution.

For others, the impact will be negative. It will mean more tourism, will threaten the community that currently makes Bozel such a unique destination in the Three Valleys, and is a throwback to the type of ‘growth at all costs’ thinking we’ll at some point need to leave behind.

In other words, as with similar debates taking place in La Grave and Salt Lake City, here we have a perfect metaphor for the wider climate crisis, and the type of issues communities around the world, it is contended, will increasingly have to grapple with.

That’s why, to explore these themes and ideas, I asked Gavin Fernie-Jones and Chris Moran (who I interviewed for the show at the end of 2022), two friends who live in Bozel and who are on opposite sides of the debate, to exchange views on the proposed lift, and expand upon what they think it will mean to the community they both hold so dear, and the future of tourism in the French Alps.

Here’s how it went:

1. Gavin Fernie-Jones:

Dear Chris,

I have several reservations about the new ski lift project in Bozel that will link the village to the Three Valleys ski area.

My main worry is how this lift will affect our tight-knit community.

The area thrives on tourism, which has been great for us. But I believe there's a limit to how much tourism can be of benefit. Just by looking up the mountain, we can see how rising prices and exclusivity can push out a whole community.

Right now, Bozel is in a good place.

We have locals of all ages and backgrounds, a bustling school, and a strong community that thrives all year round.

As we enter further into the climate crisis, the bets really are off as to how society copes and continues to function. I believe more than anything, we’ll need strong communities, and the support and help of those closer to home.

I fear that connecting Bozel to the resort with a ski lift will displace our community. House prices will shoot up - with the sale of some already on hold awaiting the anticipated rise brought about by the lift. Landlords will hike up rents or choose more lucrative rentals from holidaymakers. And some of the people that call our community home will be forced out.

I think we must consider if sacrificing our community for ski tourism, which will not last indefinitely, will truly be worth it in the long run.

Cheers,

Gav

2. Chris Moran:

Hey Gavin,

I hear you loud and clear on the house prices. It’s been a massive concern of mine all through my life and I’ve been a fan of Henry Georges’ elegant solutions to the problem using Land Value Taxes (and their sister policies of Citizens or Basic Income) since I heard about them in my 20s.

Without boring you, nor Matt, who’s heard me bang on about LVT for decades (Ed: this is true), it’s a centrist policy that essentially spreads the wealth created by infrastructure across the community that paid for it.

Not that I think it’ll ever happen in my lifetime, but I mention it in passing as I believe that house price inequality is a far, far wider problem than projects like the lift in Bozel.

But back to that subject: I’m a fan of the lift for several reasons. 1) I’d selfishly like to have a smaller commute to the hill. 2) It would undoubtedly remove an untold number of cubic kilometres of CO2 from the atmosphere over its lifetime by way of fewer cars driving up that damned hill. And 3) It’d add to Bozel’s growing summer destination status. I believe that road and mountain biking will step up as winter tourism changes, and having Bozel at the heart of a cycling trail network is far more appealing than the summer construction sites of Courchevel or Meribel.

But you’re right, it would mean change. I just think change is essential if the Three Valleys is gonna keep its place as one of the most desirable mountain destinations in the world. A status that probably most of us rely directly or indirectly on to make a living.

Cheers,

Chris

3. Gavin Fernie-Jones:

Hi Chris,

It’s clear that we both have the best interests of our beloved Bozel at heart. And obviously what this conversation is about is how Bozel faces the future in an ever-changing world, where we are witnessing rapid environmental changes at first hand.

When it comes to our valley’s traffic issues, I have my doubts that the lift will address this, or whether it is even designed to.

For example, the construction project for the lift includes 8 major zones, such as bridges, a hotel, parking, and the lift itself. Additionally, there is a rumour that an athletes' village for the 2030 Olympics will be built in Bozel. They’re also planning an 11,000 m2 destination hotel by the lake, on top of the current car park.

This all sounds like more, not less traffic, to me. But if reducing traffic IS one of the goals of this project why not expand the free bus service instead? This way, more residents and workers would benefit. The new lift will travel from A to B whereas the bus service runs to all levels in the ski resort. This could provide a more sustainable and inclusive transportation system for the community.

Either way, I’d like to see a study to determine how many cars could be removed by a more comprehensive bus service. For example, the bus service in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes as a region is in the process of being decarbonised with 50 coaches currently being retrofitted for hydrogen. With an excess of renewable energy locally, hydrogen is an obvious resource with which to decarbonise the public bus service. Maybe this could reduce road emissions more than the lift, without the huge outlay of upfront carbon emissions these huge construction projects will bring?

I also agree with your second point, that as our winters continue to change, Bozel will have to look towards summer to offset (sorry) the revenue we’ll lose as winters continue to shorten. I just remain unconvinced that road and mountain biking can meet this gap.

Recent studies highlight that biking cannot replace winter tourism. In 2021/2022 53.9 million skier days were sold across the French Alps. There just aren't enough downhill mountain bikers to keep the current lift systems open at the rate they currently run in the winter.

In fact the summer mountain biking currently doesn’t create enough revenue to service the lifts in the summer; they are subsidised by winter operations. That helps explain why the only other major lift that operates from the valley bottom in Brides-les-Bains only opens on a Sunday and Monday during the summer.

Due to the economics of running the lifts I think the mountain biking of the future will more likely be electric assisted and not lift assisted. Bozel could invest in building bike trails lower down the valley; we have the uphill tracks and roads to service a local trail centre.

Above all, when it comes to the future, I think Bozel should play to its strengths and not look up the mountain, something the new lift literally and metaphorically symbolises. Because I believe a continuation of the same story but with two wheels lacks imagination. It leaves us stuck. We need to work collectively to reimagine what comes next. The community and the fundamentals are here. I think Bozel should build on these strengths.

I do agree that change is essential but for me that doesn’t involve a repeat of what has gone before. Extending the lift system and constructing hotels is the story we have grown up with. It’s the story that says growth at all costs will fix all our problems. I just do not believe that is now the case, and I’d love to hear your take on this.

Cheers,

Gav

4. Chris Moran

Hey Gav,

I totally agree with you on many points. Not least that we both love Bozel and the area. I guess we both moved here to be part of the amazing community and also to use the incredible mountains and infrastructure that turned Courchevel from a farming community into the world’s most famous ski area from the 1930s onwards.

I have to disagree with you on some points though. It seems quite clear to me that having a lift from Bozel to Courchevel via St Bon would take out a huge amount of traffic from the Grand Carrey > Courchevel road. Bozel is home to many people who work on the mountain; lifties, instructors, restaurant staff, chalet owners and operators etc. And if all of those people commuted via a gondola instead of driving up, then that alone would be of huge benefit to the traffic problem. Add in the fact that the visiting tourists could park at Bozel and do the same then I can’t see any other outcome other than fewer cars on the road.

Of course during the construction there’d be a spike in activity - the bridges and other things you mentioned - but over the life of the lift that is a drop in the ocean. And in comparison to the ongoing construction in the resorts whether the lift is built or not: again it pales into insignificance.

Could an upgraded bus service solve the problem? I’m highly doubtful. There’s already an existing bus service. It’s busy, it stops frequently, and is just as vulnerable to traffic jams caused by transfer days, accidents when it snows, or other blockages. Add in bikes and - as the summer navette program shows - everything slows down even more. We have to remember that when it comes to holiday choices - and this is the industry that feeds the majority of the valley’s inhabitants - people want convenience above all else. Gondolas are a much more elegant solution to the problem of getting people to altitude. I do agree with you though that any navette service in the future should be electric.

On to the summer offering. Only Chamonix and Morzine/Les Gets have comparable winter and summer tourism numbers. Chamonix is an exception due to its climbing and walking history and being at the foot of Europe’s highest mountain, but Morzine and Les Gets are not so different to our nearby resorts. And Les Gets in particular has shown that with investment into cycling and a summer program, then revenues can balance out across the seasons. You are completely right in the sense that today the skiing subsidises the summer activities, but that can change.

Bourg St Maurice senses this too, and the cycling community there has worked in collaboration with the mairie (in fact they campaigned on behalf of one mayoral candidate) to have the funicular there open year round specifically to help push cycling as part of their tourism offering. Not only can I see Bozel pushing for a similar thing but I know that there are already connections happening in the cycling world within Bourg’s community, the relevant mairies and lift companies involved. The proposed gondola from Bozel would accelerate these plans.

As to your points about the future of bikes being more electric assisted, and the idea that Bozel could grow without looking up the mountain. This is perhaps the point I disagree with the most. E-bikes will certainly be part of the growth, but the basic starting point for mountain resorts and for mountain tourism in general, is that people want to be taken uphill, to then enjoy the ride down. E-bikes are amazing and the road bike network around the 3V is incredible, but the vast majority of bike riders cannot handle 2000m+ ascents, even with pedal assist. Yes there will be people who are happy to enjoy valley level activities - Bozel lake is amazing, and the hikes and via ferrata nearby are also great.

But Bozel’s economy is inextricably linked to getting people up the hill and allowing them to meander back to our beautiful town using gravity and smiles. If Bozel is to become more of a resort itself (and this seems to be the bottom line question here), then a lift will absolutely help with those plans.

Cheers,

Chris

5. Gavin Fernie-Jones

Alright Chris,

Mountain biking isn’t my sport so I’ll happily defer to your knowledge about what the majority of bike riders are looking for when they visit a resort.

In my last reply I challenged you about different ways of thinking.

Humans and all life on earth is in a tight spot. We can see the climate and biosphere collapsing around us, and we’re at a point in time where everything must change, including the human economic model of growth at all costs.

You mentioned convenience in your reply which is at the core of modern capitalism. We’ve grown up in a world where we can have everything we can dream of delivered the very next day. A world where we’ve been told to think of ourselves as consumers. This is now having a detrimental impact on society and the planet.

It’s not our fault. We’ve been conditioned to think like this from birth, by governments, advertising, and big money. The dominant story of our life has stated that our role is to consume, and that action alone will lead to an upwards trajectory for society.

I would argue that the consumer story is in collapse. We’re struggling to fund healthcare, pensions, schools, basic human needs and at the same time that consumer story adds fuel to the climate crisis.

Unfortunately for us a changing climate doesn’t take convenience into consideration. Human beings will have to make huge changes - inconvenient changes - if we’re to have a survivable planet.

At the minute we’re stuck thinking that the same old ideas will work - grow the lift system, swap skis for bikes, build hotels and athletes villages. We’re propping up the failing consumer story, and this is leading us to a dead end.

That’s why I think for any meaningful future we need a massive shift in thinking.

The change that I think is necessary is both systematic and broad, and it involves a changing of human habits. We can’t keep reaching for the same answers that have gone before.

That all maybe sounds a bit wild, when the original conversation was about a new ski lift but, I see Bozel as a microcosmic example of our wider problems.

What I’d be really interested to know is, at what level and over what timescale you think the climate crisis will affect our local ski resort, and also what levels of change you think society needs to make.

Do you believe we need the kind of change I’ve described or do you see it as an overreaction to the situation?

Cheers,

Gav

6. Chris Moran

Hey Gav,

So yes, we did start talking about the lift, and I agree with you in that really this discussion is far wider than that - it’s about what our core politics are. As mentioned with the house price discussion, I’m a Georgist at heart, and definitely on the left. But I’d also consider myself a pragmatist.

I think we’d both agree that our climate problems are caused by the burning of fossil fuels which have led to too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Therefore, if we can reduce those emissions to zero - which is a question of moving from fossil fuels to renewable fuels and energy generation - then the problem is broadly fixed. This did happen with the ozone layer/CFC emissions problem of the 1980s. Plus it had the unintended consequence of weaning everyone off hairspray. An unexpected cherry on the cake, as it were.

I agree with you in that there are other problems with inequality. But these are socio-economic problems and in my view they are totally separate to the climate discussion. Broadly speaking, I’m kinda ok with capitalism. Sustainable growth, with manageable carbon output, must surely be the goal? Realpolitik and all that!

Case in point: I believe that the lift - powered by electricity made by the hydroelectric generators in Bozel and Planey - with help from the nuclear generators in the French national energy grid - would help in the reduction of fossil-fuel-burning cars going up the hill. To me this is a pragmatic way to solve one problem (less CO2), whilst simultaneously improving the local infrastructure and therefore the local economy. “Growth” as it were. Or to put it another way, this is a pragmatic solution that could actually work in the long term. If in ten years all the cars are battery, then hey, we still have a great lift and the road is less likely to jam up on transfer day. Win-win.

If we look at the “more buses” alternative (and I’m using this example as you’d mentioned it in an earlier reply), then I believe that the likely outcome would be that most people would ignore using the bus and continue to drive, and therefore the CO2 emissions wouldn’t change. And worse if tourism in Bozel grows - which is sure to do with the Olympics on the horizon - then CO2 emissions would actually go up. Neither of us want this.

A further alternative is to ask people to not use the mountains, or to use pedal or leg power to access the altitudes. In this scenario, I simply see tourism going elsewhere. Again, the net effect on CO2 emissions as far as the planet is concerned does not change. And at a micro level, Bozel’s boom in tourism (and the associated local gains in infrastructure and commerce) also disappears.

In summary, if we’re gonna replace current problems with workable solutions, then they also have to be improvements. Moving to battery cars for example is a good thing (again, less CO2). Asking people to stop driving is just not a viable proposition. People just won’t do it. They’ll just keep driving their old diesel cars. Which is the exact opposite of the desired outcome.

You asked about timescales and zooming out to the wider problems; here, I honestly think that necessity is gonna be the mother of invention. We’re close to solving a lot of our energy problems. The worse things get, I think the quicker actual solutions will appear. I would imagine they’ll include new as-yet-to-be-invented technologies as well as having to hold our noses and accept things like nuclear power stations. If we on the left get stuck endlessly proposing unworkable solutions then the right will keep winning elections. Again, the opposite of what we want.

Just directly in answer to your points, I don’t feel that consumerism is in collapse and nor that we’ll have to make inconvenient choices. I think that if we make wise choices in moving to renewables, and tweak the existing capitalist model to something more equitable, then we might be able to manage growth and give our kids and grandchildren the kind of really incredible opportunities that we’ve enjoyed during our lifetimes.

On a personal level, I love the One Tree at a Time store, and I know that you’re someone who loves to get involved in the community and wants to make a difference. I think we both want the same thing, I guess we just have a disagreement as to how to get there. Either way, it’s a genuine honour to know you and I’ve enjoyed this discussion enormously. And can I propose that we carry on the discussion this spring if we go splitboarding/ski touring in the Les Avals area?

Thanks again Gav, and see you soon!

Chris

What did you think of this exchange? Do they reflect your views on the climate crisis? How do you think we should approach the challenges ahead? Let me know:

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I’m really not that across mountain biking. But I have found the recent controversy around Red Bull Rampage not inviting women to this year’s event (catch up here) really interesting. Mainly because I’m fascinated by the way scenarios such as this reveal our collective blindspots, which regulars will know is a consistent theme of Looking Sideways. (Check this episode and this episode for some pertinent discussions on this).

Another reason I have been intrigued because I kept seeing the safety angle used to justify not inviting women to the event.

I’ve never understood this logic. I mean, if it’s OK for men to expose themselves to risk through activities such as surfing or mountain biking, why is it not OK for women to similarly expose themselves to risk? I honestly cannot get my head around this argument, and I’ve never seen anybody successfully make it. (And yes, that includes Laird Hamilton).

Anyway, I made a similar observation on my Instagram Stories - and spent the next 24 hours receiving, reading and reposting countless impassioned, righteous, and downright fookin angry messages from women, mountain bikers and none-mountain bikers, who are clearly very bored and tired of hearing this type of thing from men. These are the screengrabs I’ve used to illustrate this post.

5 Things I’ve Learned As A Woman Running a Mountain Bike Meme Page

I also contacted Beka Stephan, who runs the popular @GirlsPullUpNotOut Instagram page with her pal Carly Chiarella, and who is at the forefront of this whole conversation, to ask for her thoughts on the whole topic, and she wrote this blog for me. Huge thanks to Beka for taking the time to do this.

1. Humour Is a Great Way To Address Serious Issues

“We never set out to become social media influencer meme lords. Carly and I launched this account with low expectations and no commitment beyond ‘we'll post when we can.’"

As full-time healthcare professionals—Carly is a Doctor of Physical Therapy, and I am a Registered Nurse Clinical Educator—we have busy schedules. When we're not working, we're usually out riding bikes. Our sole aim was to authentically represent a woman's experience in the mountain biking community, and we found that humour was the best way to do this.

There's a set of universal experiences that women mountain bikers face, and addressing these topics through humour has proven to be both validating and enlightening for a large portion of our audience.

2. Most Of Our Followers Are Men

According to our Instagram analytics, 65% of our approximately 20,500 followers are men, aged between 25 and 34. This is both expected and surprising. Mountain biking has been a male-dominated sport for years, and while women have made efforts to establish a stronger presence over the past decade, progress has been slow and not particularly well-supported by capitalist markets. However, in the last five years or so, we've seen some small advances. More brands are gradually introducing women-specific mountain biking products, for instance, but the need for equal representation remains glaringly obvious.

That's why it's somewhat surprising to find that our meme page, which focuses on women's experiences in mountain biking, has attracted such a large male following. We don't hesitate to address well-known issues women encounter in the industry, such as unsolicited advice from men—a character we've affectionately termed "Trailside Chad," a moniker that's gained quite a bit of traction. It's intriguing to see that spotlighting this integral aspect of the female mountain biking experience still resonates with a substantial male audience.

3. We Have A Ton of Support from Men in the Industry

It's been both inspiring and empowering to frequently receive messages from men who support our mission to advance women's contributions to the mountain biking industry. The feedback we get varies widely, from "I'm an everyday guy in the sport; how can I support women in mountain biking?" to "I'm a dad with a 9-year-old daughter who loves riding bikes, and I want to help inspire her."

We believe that anyone truly passionate about mountain biking wants to ensure equal opportunities for all to progress in the sport—right from the grassroots level upwards. For us, it clear that the men in our corner want the same success for women in the sport, and that’s amazing and empowering.

4. Your Success Empowers Your Opponents

We never anticipated or sought our any level of "internet meme" popularity, however that is even measured. But as our social media presence grew, it provided us an opportunity to spotlight the issues and challenges we've encountered as women riders.

Interestingly, increased visibility and a growing following opens you up to unabashed criticism and opposition. Initially, we thought we were focusing on low-risk issues—topics that were neither politically charged nor polarising, like basic equality in sports. But it turns out, some people take offence when you pivot from making memes to advocating for something meaningful.

What interesting about that for us is that we've always been transparent that our account is managed by two women riders. Still, the idea of highlighting stories about women's progress in mountain biking was, for some, utterly outrageous. Some critics felt sufficiently emboldened to tell us exactly what they thought, often projecting a "get back in the kitchen and keep making memes" attitude. That was a surprise. While lamenting about this to a friend, she gave me this sage feedback: “If you ain’t got haters, you ain’t poppin.”

5. Women Want to Be Heard

Perhaps the most glaring revelation since launching this page is that women want to be seen, heard, and represented in the sport of mountain biking. Contrary to some misconceptions, success in this field isn't a zero-sum game; increased representation for women doesn't mean less for men. This is a critical point that I feel is often misunderstood about what we're advocating for on @GirlsPullUpNotOut.

We've used humour as an indirect yet meaningful and authentic way to address these issues. This raises an interesting question: Is it problematic that we have to infuse humour into our experiences or make others laugh for these subjects to be taken seriously? It's hard to say. But it seems that making light of our experiences has been the most effective avenue for us to advance the causes that matter most—being seen, being heard, and being represented. We still have a long, long way to go in the world of women's mountain biking, but if internet memes can help us get there, I'm 100% on board.

As ever, I would love to know what you think about this blog and the issues raised:

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I’ve had a huge influx of new subscribers recently - welcome! To say thanks here’s a special offer - click the link below to get 20% off forever.

Looking Sideways is proudly ad-free and reader and listener supported. As well as getting access to the entire archive and three posts a week, paid subscribers help keep the podcast and newsletter free for everybody and ad-free for everybody, and it is hugely appreciated.

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Owen Tozer is my favourite creative in the world. As I always say, if he had a self-promotional bone in his body, he’d doubtless have taken over the world by now. Photographer, artist, director, designer, art director - whatever creative endeavour Owen turns his hand to is always embellished by his unique eye, impeccable taste, and unparalleled integrity.

He just (finally) sorted out a new online shop for his incredible photography, so to celebrate I asked him to write me a blog on five tips for taking better photos with your iPhone.

To celebrate the launch of Owen’s new store, we’re giving away a print and a copy of Looking Sideways Vol. 1 to the best question or comment for Tozer - you know what to do.

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Introduction:

Apologies in advance, as I start this with a giant cliché. But the old saying ‘the best camera is the one you have with you’ has never been more relevant.

This is especially true given the enormous rise in photography over the last few years. Today, we all have increasingly amazing cameras in our pockets, as well as access to tools to edit and publish them immediately. Apps like Instagram have made photographers of us all, and have even enabled people with little or no photography skill to make a living from it. It's pretty wild, really, when you look back 10 years and realise that only genuine photography enthusiasts carried cameras around back then.

Today, it feels completely normal to have this tool/toy constantly available to us. No moment is missed; any event—or mishap—is covered from all angles. It’s a strange and unprecedented time for photography and creativity.

What I find interesting about the old ‘best camera is the one you have with you’ saying is that even when I do have my ‘proper’ camera with all its fancy settings (and price tag), I still often reach for my phone. Sometimes, when I use both for a similar shot, I find myself preferring the image made with the phone.

Why? Often because it’s quicker and easier to capture a moment. But it can also be because we have a very different relationship with phones than we do with big, intimidating professional cameras. People react differently when we take them out and wave them around. Phone cameras are also incredibly well-designed to work in challenging light conditions, often managing to get exposure right much quicker and with much less post-production. Sure, you might sacrifice a bit of resolution and image quality if you zoom in or print the pictures really large, but who cares when most people are seeing these images on a small screen?

Despite our phones making it easier than ever to create striking images, I often get asked for tips on how to make better phone photos. So, when Matt asked me the other day, I thought I’d give it a go. Most of these tips apply to any type of photography, but they’re all available on most modern-ish phones and should make a big difference to the images you’re making.

1. Step back and zoom in

If you’re taking pictures of people out and about, this little tip changes everything. If you have a phone with more than one lens, then stepping back and zooming in makes backgrounds or landmarks appear larger in the picture than they would with a more wide-angle shot. This works really well if you have a dramatic or iconic natural backdrop to work with, like a mountainscape.

2. Window light for portraits

My go-to spot for a portrait is always next to a window—ideally one that doesn’t have the sun shining directly into the room. This way, you get lovely, soft light coming from one direction, which is really beautiful for portraits.

Stand your subject next to the window and move them around until you like how the light falls on them. Most phones have something called Portrait Mode now, which blurs the background and helps isolate your subject.

3. Long exposure

I only recently figured this out on my phone, but playing with long exposures can be really fun. On an iPhone, the best way to do this is to take a photo in ‘Live Mode’ (where it takes a little video alongside the shot). Later in the settings, where you see the ‘Live’ icon, you can tap on it and change it to ‘Long Exposure.’ This can look great for sports or music photography, and even portraits.

4. Change your perspective

- Find your foreground It’s natural to try and get a clear shot of your subject and avoid obstacles, but having something in the foreground gives your picture depth and context. Try shooting through a house plant or include a few people or objects in the foreground.

- Change your height This might sound obvious, but getting down low or going overhead can make all the difference.

- Get close Modern phones can focus just a few millimetres from the lens, so you can get amazing macro details and beautiful abstracts.

5. Edit!

Grading images to create a trademark look is most photographers' real secret. iPhones have some good preset filters, and there are many built-in features for making changes to colour, contrast, brightness, and more.

If you want to go further, there are also plenty of great apps for grading and editing. I use one called Lightroom, which is pretty amazing. Another good one is VSCO. You’d be surprised how much of a difference it makes to your images.

Got any questions on photography or creativity for Owen? You know what to do:

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I’ve had a huge influx of new subscribers recently - welcome! To say thanks here’s a special offer - click the link below to get 20% off forever.

Looking Sideways is proudly ad-free and reader and listener supported. As well as getting access to the entire archive and three posts a week, paid subscribers help keep the podcast and newsletter free for everybody and ad-free for everybody, and it is hugely appreciated.

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I’m calling it: my pal Patrick ‘Brusti’ Armbruster is one of the most influential photographers and filmers in European snowboarding of the last 30 years. 

If you’ve listened to my episode 043 conversation with Brusti, you’ll know the story: how he picked up a camera back in the early 90s, and subsequently had a ringside seat for most of the key developments in European snowboarding through the 90s and 00s.

Rice, de Marchi, Muller; Brusti was the lensman in the background documenting their rise, and has the stories and scars to prove it.

Factor in his work as a filmer with Absinthe, and the evidence is clear that Brusti been one of European snowboarding’s key tastemakers for over two decades now, with an unerring eye for talent and the platform to help that talent perform to their fullest potential.

Whether you realise it or now, this man is largely responsible for the perception of that period in European snowboarding history as a true golden age. He’s also one of the good ones, charming, funny, friendly and generous.

I’ve know Brusti for years, and he’s been talking about making a book for almost as long as I’ve known him. Last year, he finally finished it  - Barely Made It, a ridiculously comprehensive overview of this entire period.

And in this week’s blog, Brusti has chosen five of his favourite pics from this period, with the stories to match.

As a bonus, Brusti will be manning the trenches below the line and answering any questions you might have about this legendary, debauched period of snowboarding history. 

We’ll also be giving away a copy of Barely Made It and my own Looking Sideways Vol. 1 to the best question or comment from a paid subscriber, so get ya thinking caps on.

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1. Nicolas Müller, Riksgränsen, April 2000

When Drew Stevenson and I planned to produce one of the first European Snowboard movies in 1999, we put together a list of riders that we felt represented the best and most versatile freestyle riding Europe had to offer. A few years earlier, I had met a 14-year-old Nicolas Müller whose riding style was just from another planet. By the time we started shooting, he was the youngest on our list. Towards the end of winter 99/00, we embarked on a last filming mission to Riksgränsen in Sweden, where we had planned to film his part. Sledding, shaping hips, and jumps was the plan. Part of the crew was Dani Sappa, as well as Iker Fernandez. I remember Nicolas' dad dropped him off at the Zurich airport and gave me the hint to take good care of his son.

We hit one of those weather windows that sort of grounded us for a week inside the hotel. Fog, rain, snow, wind—whenever it cleared a bit, we went out searching for spots and started to shape a kicker but always returned shortly after to our hotel room without actually riding the spots. When the day of our departure came, we had about 5 spots ready, which were unridden. The weather forecast was uncertain, but there was a chance of a short window on the day we initially booked our flights back. Iker didn't want to risk changing his flight, so he left. The rest of us postponed our journeys home by a day.

When the alarm rang on this 25th of April 2000, the sun was, to all our surprises, shining. While we waved Iker goodbye, we jumped on our sleds. Within the next 6 hours, we rallied from one spot to the next. Dani Sappa and especially Nicolas Müller landed their tricks first tries on each spot, followed up by another 2-3 shots on each spot. When the clouds set back in and it started to snow, we basically had shot each spot and got some key moments for their parts.

When we returned to the hotel, we found a pre-built road gap jump next to the hotel, which came as a bonus. While it started snowing, we started hitting it, and both Nicolas and Dani got another 1-2 shots right there, turning a frustrating week into a very productive one and ending the season with a bang.

Nicolas basically filmed his entire first snowboard movie part ever within that day— which was his 18th birthday. We had a blast that evening in the club of the hotel.

2. Michi Albin & Johan Olofsson, Vancouver, 1998

During the late '90s, Johan Olofsson from Sweden was one of snowboarding's big icons, while Michi Albin from Switzerland was the up-and-coming star in the freestyle world, dominating all the big air events he entered. Both were surrounded by a special aura.

I had this idea for a picture where Michi and Johan would tower over the city of Vancouver, a city I happened to pass through for the first time on my way to Whistler. The plan was to do a triple exposure on a single image or slide. First, I shot seven stills of Vancouver's skyline at night with my analog camera and rewound the film. A week later, when I saw Michi again, I put the same film back in and shot seven portraits of him with a blue flash. I rewound the film once more, and when I ran into Johan, I put the same roll of film back in and took another seven portraits of him with a blue flash. Needless to say, it was all guesswork, trying to frame them correctly in the shot.

Back then, it would often take weeks, sometimes even months, to finally see your developed pictures after coming back from endless travels. I remember the moment when I looked at these slides and saw that one of the seven images had come out perfect—it felt like winning the lottery.

3. Terje Haakonsen, Lofoten, 2000

In the late '90s, Terje Haakonsen felt that half-pipe riding needed to reach the next level. At the same time, the FIS had just made snowboarding an Olympic discipline, essentially stabbing the official snowboard federation—the ISF—in the back. The future of contest riding was uncertain, so Terje took matters into his own hands and initiated the Arctic Challenge. This competition was inspired by surf events, where the riders had more say in every aspect, particularly the format and timing, to showcase their best performances. Receiving an invitation from Terje was more than an honoor; it was a given that you'd follow up on it. We all began planning our trips north to Norway's Arctic wilderness, specifically to one of the Lofoten Islands.

The setup alone was mind-blowing. A pipe and quarter-pipe of a size that nobody had ever seen before were constructed on a rather small hill close to the ocean. The fact that people on this remote island could put together such a massive snow structure was astonishing.

What followed was a week of amazing experiences all around—surfing, fishing on the ocean, forming friendships, and, of course, great riding. A who's who of snowboarding showed up, creating an unforgettable spirit.

On the day the quarter-pipe contest took place, the level of riding soared to new heights. This shot of Terje's backside air was the highest a quarter-pipe had seen to that day. The stunning backdrop of the ocean added perfectly to the scene.

4. Romain de Marchi, Tokyo X-Trail, 2001

After Toyota successfully launched their own big air contest in Sapporo a few years earlier, Reto Lamm devised a plan to set up an even bigger competition in Japan's capital, with Nissan as the main sponsor. The rivalry among Japan's leading car companies was on.

The Nissan XTrail event was born and took place at the Tokyo Dome, an indoor arena that drew over 50,000 spectators. Fans came to see the best riders of the time perform against an unforgettable backdrop. To this day, it's probably the snowboarding event with the most spectators. The organization made sure to treat the riders royally. Every night featured a different exciting program, and by the time the event took place, adrenaline levels were through the roof.

The Sunday night afterparty served as the culmination of it all, and only a few lucky individuals were invited to the venue. Romain de Marchi and Michi Albin cheered into the crowd, marking an amazing end to the first X-Trail event that put Tokyo on the map for snowboard competitions. Every rider wanted to be part of it in the following years.

5. Fredrik ‘Prippa’ Hedman, European Open, Livigno, 2001

The Burton European Open was a staple on the annual snowboard calendar 20 years ago. The event took place in the idyllic village of Livigno, just south of the Swiss border. It was a week filled with great riding—pipe, park, and freeriding in between—shared with whoever you happened to cross paths with on the snowboard tour. Back then, the world tour felt like a big school class that would reconvene every other weekend in a different location. Alongside the riders, the media, especially now-defunct snowboard print magazines, were always a part of the scene. Each of these magazines hosted legendary parties during the events, with Pleasure magazine's moto parties being a must-attend for everyone.

During competition days, things occasionally got a bit loose as well. I remember standing at the pipe while it was being prepped for the halfpipe competition when suddenly there was a commotion. Banners started disappearing—can you imagine sponsor banners being taken down just before a pipe contest nowadays? All because something entirely unplanned started happening, with no security measures and no one having any idea what was going on.

The roar of a snowmobile filled the air, and this crazy Swedish guy, who had driven all the way from Sweden with his truck and trailer, had the audacious idea of jumping over the pipe. After some quick shovel work next to the coping, Fredrik 'Pripa' Hedman raced toward the pipe and launched himself and the sled across it. The stunt was surreal. After four or five jumps, the guerrilla act was over, and the competition resumed. Nicolas Müller ended up winning the European Open halfpipe event that year.

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Last week I headed up to London for the brilliant London Calling event, where I bumped into my old pal Dan Adams, the man in charge of the brilliant Read and Destroy archive.

A few years ago, I asked Dan to choose his five favourite pics from the RaD archive, which I’m reposting here:

“Matt has asked me to think about my five ‘favourite’ photos from the RaD archive. Wow. Five? Over the last couple of years I’ve been through thousands of photographic images spanning 1979 to 1995. Five? Every time I open a box or file that I’ve already been through I find something else that gets me stoked about skateboarding and that I’ve obviously missed before.

With this rather daunting task in mind here are five of my favourites as chosen today – ask me tomorrow and it will more than likely be something else. However I hope these five go some way to describing the aspects of skate culture that have helped to keep me enthralled for the past 40 years and also encapsulate the spirit of the RaD archive”.

Read on to see Dan’s choices….

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If you’ve been following Looking Sideways for a while, like I have as a guest and listener, you’ll know that certain themes have developed over the lifetime of the podcast.

And one of the most fascinating recent themes has been an ongoing debate around what Matt has been referring to as our ‘transactional’ relationship with nature.

What does this mean? It’s the idea that, however unwittingly, for our community the natural world only really exists as a canvas on which to project our own enjoyment or edification.

For example, that a mountain only exists as a home for a ski lift so I can spend the season riding powder; or that I appreciate this body of water only because it exists to benefit me mentally, rather than as an ecosystem I’m part of and should try to protect.

Matt began to explore this idea in episodes and on IG Story posts after he attended a protest about the state of our waters in the UK, and noticed that almost none of the local surf or swim community, who seem to take so much from this particular local environment, had bothered attending.

His musings about this lack of engagement among the very community that you’d think would have a stake on such a none-partisan issue prompted snowboarder, activist and LS community member Calum McIntyre to write a very well-argued piece (above) about the general lack of engagement among our community when it comes to significant issues such as the climate debate. That one is now free to read, and I highly recommend you check it out.

Other voices have also recently begun to explore this question, like Rebecca Olive in this piece.

Yet another interesting perspective was provided by Stan Townsend in this article, which asked how we might use the appeal and attractiveness of action sports to tell stories that influence how we engage with issues like climate change or water quality. Rather than the solipsistic, one-dimensional, ‘man-versus-nature’ narratives that most action sports storytelling seems to exclusively trade in.

As you’ll know if you’re listened to any of my conversations with Matt on Looking Sideways, discussions like this fascinate me, especially in relation to our beloved sideways activities. And these thoughts from Matt, Calum, Stan and Rebecca have got me thinking about a few key questions:

-       What is it about action sports in particular that might help us in the bid to tackle the big challenges that humans and the planet face today, and in the future?

-       If we consider how in western capitalist democracies, the last fifty years have focused more and more on the individual, and especially on delivering external returns (whether that’s making money for shareholders, or bringing fame and the power to influence through marketing of one kind or another), can we better understand how action sports plays into this view?  How could it be different?

-       How can we inspire our communities to promote responsibility and action on the climate emergency and other issues? And what role can leaders in action-sports play in this?

With all that in mind, here are five thoughts on how we might use lessons from action sports to impact some of the larger issues we currently face.

1. Ask the right questions

The kinds of issues that come up in relation to what we are calling a transactional relationship with nature are also in evidence in similarly transactional relationships with other humans as well.

The reasons why these dynamics evolve in an exploitative way (where people and the natural world are seen as a means to an end, rather than something worth protecting for its own sake), are always complex and nuanced.

But it almost always comes down to a lack of balance between freedom and responsibility. And, by extension, fairness and justice in relation to the interplay between the needs of the individual, as well as the needs of the natural world, the wider community, and society as a whole.

The crucial debate about where this balance should sit is currently shaping our society at every level, whether that’s through debates such as Brexit, mask-wearing and vaccines, the ‘culture war’, or even climate change. On a far smaller scale, it was also the dynamic that was at play when Matt noticed none of his local surf community had bothered to attend the protest about the cleanliness of the local waters where he surfs, for example.

It’s a scenario that also throws up some questions that are very worth asking as we start to look more deeply into this ‘transactional’ dynamic, and look at what we can learn from action sports culture:

·      What do we mean by the idea of action sports ‘cultures and communities’, beyond the idea of a demographic to sell product or services to?

·      Do these cultures and communities really actually exist? This is one reason why the entire debate around the Big Sea, and the lack of engagement from the surf community and industry, is such a fascinating ongoing conversation.

·      What do we actually value as a community? The environments we play in? Or just the feelings we individually get from playing in these environments, which again is the focus of almost all industry and brand marketing?

·      How do we get a balance of freedom, responsibility, risk, sustainability and justice? And what does this mean for leadership and for social ‘buy-in’ when it comes to issues of freedom and responsibility?

Understanding the terms of the debate, and the questions we should be asking, enables us to draw important conclusions.

2. Community is our common ground

If we’re looking for common ground when it comes to action and outdoor sports, a good place to start are the experiences people have when skating, snowboarding or surfing.

Although words like ‘stoked’ or ‘psyched’ are a cliche, they resonate with surfers, skaters and snowboarders because nobody has yet come up with a better way of describing how good it feels when you’re flying down the line, turning in powder, or finally landing a new trick.

And it is in this definition of ‘community’ – the community of shared experience – that we find something powerful to harness for a wider purpose.

After all, ‘progression’, the thing that truly sets our cultures apart from mainstream sporting culture, is actually a hugely nuanced and satisfying experience.

It means transcending your personal mental, physical and emotional limits, while also being acutely aware of the way you and your friends interact with the hazards and opportunities provided by the environments we play in.  

This leads to powerful and unique problem-solving and learning experiences that encourage creativity, courage, collaboration, respect, resilience, self-awareness, humility, clear-headedness, and clarity and precision of action. The good stuff that is the foundation of all personal and community development.

These are all virtuous traits that can help in any challenging situation where collaboration, problem-solving and effective action is needed.

I believe these experiences underpin action sports cultures and communities.

And that, potentially, these communal experiences could have an important role to play in our crisis-ridden, overly-individualized and highly transactional world.

3. What is fair? Knowing the score or ‘rules’ of the game.

The way action sports communities ‘manage’ what I am going to call the ‘rules’ of the game offers another salutary lesson.

Any ‘rules’, especially outside of competition, are related to what the culture and community find to be acceptable, and are ultimately what gives our cultures meaning, especially in relation to fairness and safety.

This process is the perfect example of how those aforementioned ‘virtuous’ traits progression helps to develop can also support a practical view of freedom and responsibility.

One that takes fairness into account as both the foundation of equality of opportunity/freedom, and the foundation of creativity, beauty and excellence (known, in our world, as ‘style’).

What rules exist in our scenes are often more like codes, and are also often taken up voluntarily, especially outside of the competition environment. Away from the contest scene, the policing of these is left up to the community where more experienced members often pass on the ways of being, including the ‘rules’, to newcomers and those learning the ropes.

Think about the way wave priority works in a line up, or the way space is managed in a skatepark for example. These rules are important, because they provide the framework by which participants can find their own intrinsic feelings of freedom, and the platform through which to express their own creativity.

Our codes define the possibility for a kind of fairness, both in terms of respect for others, but also a fairness in the sense of being beauty and style, and they become more pronounced the more the risk or challenge relates to everyone involved. That’s another way progression works.

Harnessed in service of a greater goal, these positive, self-perpetuating cultural tendencies have a latent power that is waiting to be unleashed.

4. What makes something good? Or why failure can also be success.  

Seeing failure as something to be celebrated is the ultimate pragmatism, and is surely something unique to action sports.

It’s how risks and challenges are overcome, and why our peers, who understand the task and difficulty, uniquely appreciate and validate them as an act of collective celebration – as when the entire skate park cheers when somebody finally lands that trick, for example.

This is one of the key things that builds individuals into a community that shares ways of understanding and working: our own organic ‘standards of excellence,’ if you like.

It’s one of the things that is so great and nuanced about action sports culture, and which you can see mainstream commentators completely fail to understand every four years when the Olympics come around again, and they completely cannot get their heads around the fact that the competitors are genuinely all friends who are rooting for each other.

It also gives substance to any notion of shared values, and what that might mean when it comes to behaving ethically.

And it’s here that we can make a connection to the notion of ‘imperfect’ activism, and how we must stop being hamstrung by accusations of hypocrisy if we espouse change while living anything less than a ‘perfect’ life.

You know the type of thing. How can you have an opinion on global warming if you fly to the mountains/own a car/participate in society. And so on.

But action sports teach you that not everything has to be perfect to have a great day or a worthwhile experience. And that the conditions very rarely align to be considered ‘perfect’.

Those ‘perfect’ days are few and far between. So trying for the best possible outcome with what is available and being able to think about ‘excellence’ as a process, and something other than ‘faster, higher, stronger’, allows for the kind of pragmatism that transforms failure into something positive, and fosters the resilience and curiosity needed for great days to happen.

And might also support us should we decide to tackle other, more insurmountable challenges: such as the climate crisis.

5. Find a true definition of leadership

What does a true leader look like? Is it Elon Musk, or Jeff Bezos, chasing growth at the expense of all else? Or is it Yvon Chouniard giving his company away to benefit the planet?

Is it Lance Armstrong, prepared to break any rule to achieve victory? Or is it somebody like Lucy Small, using her platform to change the conversation around gender equality in surfing?

In attempting to answer this question, action sports again have many lessons to teach us. After all, key aspects of the action sports experience – creativity, adventure, collaboration, expression, learning from others, valuing difference – light up the aspects of human nature that promote connection to others and the environment.

This, in turn, promotes responsibility, which then supports feelings of freedom. By focussing on the parts of our culture that are ‘fair’ in terms of both goodness and equity, instead of fixating on transactional or external aims, we can find a balance of freedom and responsibility.

And a notion of leadership that has the power to affect real change.

If leaders at all levels of action sports can promote the virtuous traits and ways of working already naturally found in our culture, the likelihood that we can move away from the transactional relationship we have with nature, and create more ‘buy in’ to responsible action, greatly increases.

Not that this will be easy. Again, the response of the surf industry to the Big Sea – defensive, inward-looking, semantic and pedantic – is instructive. By this definition, leadership necessitates a willingness to learn from each other and to promote projects, large and small, related to the virtues we already learn through participating in these sports, rather than a vehicle for selling more products or achieving more individualistic growth.

There is a subtle but important difference here. Brands like Patagonia are very much ahead of the game, but there’s plenty of space for others to join in and demonstrate the leadership we’ll need in the future.

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Back in 2016, as a 17 year-old, cycling from Manali to Drass (via Leh and Khardung La) was my first ever big cycling adventure. I covered nearly 750km on my bike. I was cycling by myself and would meet my parents at pre-determined points along the way. That experience was meant to be a one-off cycling adventure. I thought, someday, I’d go tour across another country or two but nothing crazier than that. Little did I know back then that cycling would become such a huge part of my identity.

In 2018, I circumnavigated the globe on bicycle. I was 19 when I started, 20 when I finished. Next year, I plan on undertaking this challenge again, only this time, I hope to do it in the fastest women’s time. So it made sense to come back where it all started, back to the Manali-Leh route, and build some confidence and sharpen the ‘mind’ muscle by challenging myself this way.

I spent a month in Leh training for this. I had access to an indoor trainer, which meant that I could focus on very specific aspects of riding, and work on that. But majority of my training was done outdoors.

“The overall route was 471km long with 8500 metres of elevation gain. The passes along the way were between 4000m and 5300m.”

To me, this route takes you from the foothills to the heart of the Indian Himalayas. The average elevation of this route was well over 3000m. My support crew included my father Vivek Kulkarni, my friend and mentor Sumit Patil, a Ladakhi friend called Faisal Qadir, and a driver that we hired from Manali called Mangal.

According to my Strava activity, it took me 51 hours, 49 minutes, 52 seconds to cycle from Manali to Leh along Rohtang Pass, Baralacha Pass, Nakeela Pass, Lachulung La, and Tanglang La. I broke the record by over three hours.

Here are five things I learned from the experience:

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Photographer, artist, director, designer, art director: Owen Tozer is the real deal, and my favourite ‘creative’ person. As I always say, if he had a self-promotional bone in his body, he’d have taken over the world by now.

It’s just over two years since we published our first book Looking Sideways Vol. 1, so with that milestone in mind I’m publishing this blog in which Owen chooses five of his favourite paintings, and explains how they had such an influence on him. Hope you enjoy it! And if you have any of your own influences or favourite artists or paintings to share, please let me know in the comments!

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