AIR ARTIST WARREN SMITH PENS HIS TAKE ON CHILE
I have a crush on the nation of Chile; A big crush. Well maybe its just lust. It’s kind of like being booty blinded except this would be called being barrel blinded. That’s when you don’t really notice anything else except for how good the barrel is. I’ve never been so barreled before in my life. It was just silly, almost as silly as my friend Dante’s haircut. For some weird reason Dante pretends he is Mexican. Dante is not Mexican but he is a skank. He named his dumb haircut the Scene-or. It’s Scene because it sort of has a scenester mullet look and it’s or because it’s definitely Mexican. He is a freaking retard. He walks around pretending he knows Spanish even though he doesn’t know one word. I hate him. I hate him almost as much as Joel Tudor hates Chilean food. I watched Joel leave his food untouched on his plate at two different restaurants. He eventually went crazy and left town. He said the food was a cross between biblical and medieval. Here’s what Joel does like: ju jitsu, Russian kettle bells, surf history, barrels and smoothies. He also knows oodles about who got beat up in Hawaii and for what. His Russian kettle bell looks like a 26 lb turd with a handle on it that he takes everywhere with him to stay in shape. He is also a ninja. Joel was the Pan American national champ in ju jitsu. He tried to show me a few moves but I started crying. A lot. It was really embarrassing. This was my first trip where there was actually too much surf. Everyday was consistently 6 feet with some days reaching 12-15 ft plus. I don’t like 15 ft plus but my looney tunes boss Jesse Faen (ceo of Insight) sure does. Jesse has a weird brain that doesn’t work when he’s in the barrel. Maybe the barrel melts his brain. When Jesse is getting shackled, even if he gets shot out he keeps going until the whole thing closes out on him. It’s kind of like watching a deer get stuck in headlights except Jesse is not a deer. I watched Jesse get the biggest barrel I have ever seen in person. He was so excited he frantically paddled back out with a grin from ear to ear. He looked kind of like Avril Lavigne after she found her skater boi. I was so excited that I paddled straight to the inside and started crying. Again. On the last day Jesse and I scored the best tubes of the trip. We were trading 6-8 prefect barrels with no one out but the two of us. I got the best barrel of my life 3 times that day. It was a perfect session except I had to poo the whole time. Which reminds me, Kenny Hurtado, the SURFING photographer slipped in doo doo. He then smelled his own doo doo. Well not his doo doo, it was someone else’s doo doo. Kenny doesn’t like to take your average sunny, front lit, logo love photos. Kenny likes to get strange in the trees about a mile away. That’s because Kenny is a creep. Actually I don’t think I ever saw Kenny even take a photo. That’s how much of a creep he is. We ate diner with some of Jesse’s Chilean friends. They fed us fish and played dance music on their cell phones. We had a cell phone dance party. I tried to dance with the Madre of the house but I think she thought I was a girl. She was cute. Around the middle of the trip we had 2 days of rain. I think this combined with the food drove Joel’s brain to the state of dumb. Joel and I were spending our free time singing songs by really good bands like Linkin Park, Creed, Smashmouth, Sugar Ray, Ace of Base and my personal favorite, Limp Bizkit. Fred Durst looks so cute in his red hats. Our rendition of Crazy Town’s Butterfly was spectacular. “Come my lady, come come my lady, you my butterfly… Sugar…. baby.” Those guys were pure lyrical geniuses. We forgot one very pivotal band though, Poppa Roach. “Cuz I’m losing my sight, losing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I’m fine.” Absolute poets. I bet Joel could sing this song so good. Sometimes I fall down in life. I fell down in Chile. I ran out of money about 3 days into the trip but so did Creepy Kenny. That meant Poppa Joel, Momma Jesse, and Uncle Geoff had to pay for Creepy Kenny and Baby Warren for the rest of the trip. Then I really fell down. I was trying to show off my newly acquired tubular skills for creepy Kenny and his camera by standing tall and mighty inside a boss dog barrel like the tough dudes in Hawaii. So I dropped in, stood straight up and got smashed right in the head by the lip. But I’m so good at barrel riding that after the lip punched me in the face I did a cartwheel and still got barreled without my board. I only cried a little bit this time. Geoff Ragatz was the other photographer on the trip. He’s been to Chile a lot and has a deep love for the nation. Geoff spends a lot of his time documenting and protesting an environmental problem that is threatening to pollute the ocean in Chile. He also speaks good Spanish and makes this weird barking noise like a sick dog when he sees a good barrel. It’s tubular. I only cried one more time on this trip but it wasn’t my fault. It was Jesse’s fault. Jesse and I decided to go for one more surf before dark so we got the fellas to drop us off 4 left points from the house and we figured we’d just surf back. Then we realized it was a mile long. Then we realized it was dark. Then we realized it was 50 degrees. For some reason Jesse’s brain melted again and he got barrel blinded so he took off on a 6 ft close out in the dark. I don’t think he even made it to his feet. I thought the wave killed my friend Jesse. So now I’m alone in the dark with 6 ft closeouts, 2 more points to paddle around and half a mile from the house. I started crying. I was thinking about the wave that killed Jesse and how I must be next since I was a witness. What was I going to do? Then I remembered that I was in a yo-yo gang in high school (we called ourselves “the yo-yos”) and I just so happen to have a yo-yo back at the house. That’s it. I’ll go to beach, run to the house and get my yo-yo then come back and avenge Jesse’s death. Wait a minute. That would be the dumbest idea ever, the yo-yo would just punch right thru the wave, angering it even more. Now I’m really crying. “Man, when I get to heaven, God is going to cuss at me,” I said to myself. Then, all of the sudden, God yelled, “Warren!” Oh shit God is talking to me…quick say something holy back. “Doo doo! I mean, God, you’re not still mad at me about that time when I was 10 and I had to pee real bad so I went to my neighbor’s house and peed on their sliding glass door with them watching on the other side; or what about when I was 18 and bought tons of fake Oakleys and Tag watches for 20 bucks a piece from a preacher named Wayne, then sold them to tourists in Panama City for 100 bucks a piece. Look God, those tourists deserve it, they’re always” -“Warren, are you drunk?” But that wasn’t the voice of God. That was Jesse. I quickly wiped all the tears out of my eyes and told him about all the barrels I got while he was gone. He held my hand all the way home. Chile was pretty tubular. Tootles.