The morning is misty and still stirring in its bed. But Pipe is alive, men slipping under lurching, thunderous lips. A wave spits both ways and a man rolls to a stop, shaking his head in the channel while another man cuts straight toward shore before an approaching, guillotine left. In the foreground, near the shoreline, a supple blonde poses in the stillness.
The sun creeps over the Koolau Mountains, due east. Peaking over the lifeguard tower, its rays hit the model and she sparkles. Golden. In the background, through her arms, through her legs and through the space between her arcing chin and bending neck, men pull in…two, three, four…and explode into vision. Nathan. John John. Mason.
On location, North Shore of Oahu, for the 2012 SURFING Magazine Swimsuit Issue and the day begins with magic. Michael Sterling Eaton, our man behind the lens, goes gonzo — slithering through the sand on hands and knees to find the best angle. To get that God-shot. And our models…Good Lord, our models.
The blonde: Sydney. Too perfect. Face like an angel. Body like a super-model angel. Kind of smile that’d make Jesus blush in his sandals. The brunette: Natazha. Ethnic. Dusky. Legs for days, stray tats, curves like the road to f—king Hana. The pro: Sarah. Guess girl. Maxim favorite. Behind that lens — something extraterrestrial. Girl gets low, contorts and the stars collide.
From the deck of the Volcom House, the boys hoot and whistle. At the women. At the waves. At both. It’s unclear which, exactly, but also irrelevant. The men are in the water, the women are in swimsuits; life is as it should be. The boys cheer for two corresponding scenes of beauty. They praise this morning and its wonders. Its dripping, spitting, arcing wonders. —Beau Flemister