What do you think?
Rate this book
Cocaine + Surfing: A Sordid History of Surfing's Greatest Love Affair
From the author of Welcome to Paradise, Now Go To Hell, a finalist for the PEN Center USA Award for Nonfiction
It’s no surprise that surfers like to party. The 1960–70s image, bolstered by Tom Wolfe and Big Wednesday, was one of mild outlaws―tanned boys refusing to grow up, spending their days drinking beer and smoking joints on the beach in between mindless hours in the water.
But in the 1980s, as surf brands morphed into multibillion-dollar companies, the derelict portrait began to harm business. The external surf image became Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton, beacons of health, vitality, bravery, and clean-living.
Internally, though, surfing had moved on from booze and weed to its heart’s true home, its soul’s twin flame: cocaine. The rise of cocaine in American popular culture as the choice of rich, white elites was matched, then quadrupled, within surf culture. The parties got wilder, the nights stretched longer, the stories became more ridiculously unbelievable. And there has been no stopping, no dip in passion.
It is a forbidden love, and few, if any, outside the surf world know about this particular rhapsody. Drug use is kept very well-hidden, even from insiders, but evidence of its psychosis rears its head from time to time in the form of overdoses, bar fights, surf contests, murders, and cover-ups.
Cocaine + Surfing draws back the curtain on a hopped-up, sometimes-sexy, sometimes-deadly relationship and uses cocaine as the vehicle to expose and explain the utterly absurd surf industry to outsiders.
It’s no surprise that surfers like to party. The 1960–70s image, bolstered by Tom Wolfe and Big Wednesday, was one of mild outlaws―tanned boys refusing to grow up, spending their days drinking beer and smoking joints on the beach in between mindless hours in the water.
But in the 1980s, as surf brands morphed into multibillion-dollar companies, the derelict portrait began to harm business. The external surf image became Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton, beacons of health, vitality, bravery, and clean-living.
Internally, though, surfing had moved on from booze and weed to its heart’s true home, its soul’s twin flame: cocaine. The rise of cocaine in American popular culture as the choice of rich, white elites was matched, then quadrupled, within surf culture. The parties got wilder, the nights stretched longer, the stories became more ridiculously unbelievable. And there has been no stopping, no dip in passion.
It is a forbidden love, and few, if any, outside the surf world know about this particular rhapsody. Drug use is kept very well-hidden, even from insiders, but evidence of its psychosis rears its head from time to time in the form of overdoses, bar fights, surf contests, murders, and cover-ups.
Cocaine + Surfing draws back the curtain on a hopped-up, sometimes-sexy, sometimes-deadly relationship and uses cocaine as the vehicle to expose and explain the utterly absurd surf industry to outsiders.
- GenresNonfictionSports
256 pages, Hardcover
Published June 12, 2018
90 people are currently reading
469 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 29 of 32 reviews
July 8, 2018
This is not a book about cocaine and surfing, it's a book about Chas Smith's struggle with his identity as a surf journalist.
On the surface, this narrative is an exercise in confirmation bias. Smith begins with the an idea that cocaine and surfing have been intrinsically intertwined since time immemorial and then he supports his conclusion with observational evidence and cherry picked facts.
However, the cocaine and surfing love story is a way for the author to come to terms with participation in a vocation he adores but has trouble valuing.
But even though the cocaine story turns out to be a red herring, I still fucking loved this book. With his signature snarkiness, the author does provide a candid look at drug use in the surfing industry. Some of it scathing, most of it ridiculous.
Many in the surf community (and the reading community it seems!) are annoyed by Smith, but I respect his honesty, appreciate his exposure of the absurd and definitely share his loathing of the disingenuous.
I will be reading more by this author.
On the surface, this narrative is an exercise in confirmation bias. Smith begins with the an idea that cocaine and surfing have been intrinsically intertwined since time immemorial and then he supports his conclusion with observational evidence and cherry picked facts.
However, the cocaine and surfing love story is a way for the author to come to terms with participation in a vocation he adores but has trouble valuing.
But even though the cocaine story turns out to be a red herring, I still fucking loved this book. With his signature snarkiness, the author does provide a candid look at drug use in the surfing industry. Some of it scathing, most of it ridiculous.
Many in the surf community (and the reading community it seems!) are annoyed by Smith, but I respect his honesty, appreciate his exposure of the absurd and definitely share his loathing of the disingenuous.
I will be reading more by this author.
March 5, 2018
The description of this book makes it seems as though the author is offering an unvarnished view into the seedy cocaine subculture of surfing. He does not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
January 24, 2019
Oh man, what a tool. I felt like I was on a bad date with a narcissist. Remember in college when you’d up the font size and expand the margins to hit the length requirement..? This “book” should’ve been 2 paragraphs scribbled on a bar napkin.
July 8, 2021
This book is most certainly not for everyone. I was anticipating a mostly linear discussion of drug use in professional surfing, and that was not it at all. If you want something more in that realm, I'd recommend one of my favorite documentaries, "Andy Irons: Kissed by God." It has a 100% on rotten tomatoes and will rip you apart. Smith talks about Andy quite a bit in this book as well, but hearing the story from Andy's wife and brother is devastating. I digress.
This book is more of a gonzo telling of Chas trying to find meaning in surf journalism and the surf industry at large, primarily through the vehicle of cocaine and surfing. Chas is self-aware, jaded, and pompous, which some people probably hate. I thought he was funny and appreciated his gutting of the surf industry.
Still, there are portions where he does examine drug use in surfing. I knew some of this from other surf media, but he's right, it's largely hidden from public view. Chas has no interest in the squeaky clean, almost spiritual portrayal of surfing so often produced. He's honest, if crass.
If you know nothing about surfing, maybe read a happier surf book or watch "Endless Summer" first. I think this book is best served as a foil to that image. I tore through it and look forward to reading more of his writing.
This book is more of a gonzo telling of Chas trying to find meaning in surf journalism and the surf industry at large, primarily through the vehicle of cocaine and surfing. Chas is self-aware, jaded, and pompous, which some people probably hate. I thought he was funny and appreciated his gutting of the surf industry.
Still, there are portions where he does examine drug use in surfing. I knew some of this from other surf media, but he's right, it's largely hidden from public view. Chas has no interest in the squeaky clean, almost spiritual portrayal of surfing so often produced. He's honest, if crass.
If you know nothing about surfing, maybe read a happier surf book or watch "Endless Summer" first. I think this book is best served as a foil to that image. I tore through it and look forward to reading more of his writing.
May 20, 2018
The description of this book makes it seems as though the author is offering an unvarnished view into the seedy cocaine subculture of surfing. He does not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
July 11, 2018
To truly appreciate this book, one must get to know Chas Smith through other venues including his prior book about the underbelly of the North Shore as well as the brilliant podcast he does with David Lee Scales on Surf Splendor. The surf industry will dismiss this book. Some in surf media, who are complicit with the Surf apparel industry will also dismiss this book (just look at the baseless review of a Stab Magazine contributor).
And these are reasons precisely why this book should be read... not borrowed, but purchased and read. The underbelly needs more exposing. Keep ‘em coming Mr. Smith.
And these are reasons precisely why this book should be read... not borrowed, but purchased and read. The underbelly needs more exposing. Keep ‘em coming Mr. Smith.
August 6, 2020
I enjoyed this book tremendously. Witty, both self-deprecating and hugely arrogant, this "expose" of the links between cocaine and surfing had me both laughing at the content and at myself, for all my years of obsessing over surf. If you're looking for dirt in the surfing community, it's not here, though it is generally acknowledged there IS dirt to be found. Very entertaining and quick read.
May 4, 2019
another review said:
"The description of this book makes it seems as though the author is offering an unvarnished view into the seedy cocaine subculture of surfing. He does not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not."
this sums it up exactly. felt pointless. and it felt like no conclusion was actually reached. i think smith is just trying to justify his existence as a surf journalist to himself and he talks about it on every page. i felt that no connection between cocaine and surfing was actually reached besides the fact that surfers do cocaine. but a lot of people do cocaine. it doesn't feel exciting or shocking. i felt like smith spent most of the book talking to himself in a way that isn't very interesting to most readers. finished it because i was hoping some important truth would be revealed, but i finished this book not knowing anything i didn't know before. meh.
"The description of this book makes it seems as though the author is offering an unvarnished view into the seedy cocaine subculture of surfing. He does not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not."
this sums it up exactly. felt pointless. and it felt like no conclusion was actually reached. i think smith is just trying to justify his existence as a surf journalist to himself and he talks about it on every page. i felt that no connection between cocaine and surfing was actually reached besides the fact that surfers do cocaine. but a lot of people do cocaine. it doesn't feel exciting or shocking. i felt like smith spent most of the book talking to himself in a way that isn't very interesting to most readers. finished it because i was hoping some important truth would be revealed, but i finished this book not knowing anything i didn't know before. meh.
June 12, 2018
The description of this book makes it seems as though the author is offering an unvarnished view into the seedy cocaine subculture of surfing. He does not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
Rather, the author employs mental gymnastics to connect the discredited South America to Polynesia origin of the Hawaiian people to a longstanding, albeit imaginary, relationship between the coca leaf and riding waves.
He tells a vague story about seeing a pair of unnamed professional surfers use cocaine one time. He asks people for cocaine at surf industry parties and is unable to find any. He speaks to Michael Tomson, a man with a well documented cocaine addiction, without revealing any information that isn't already public knowledge.
The author spends the rest of the time rehashing apocryphal tales, summarizing things that other people have written, complaining about the surf industry, mentioning the clothes he wears, and navel-gazing about his career as a surf journalist.
If you're looking for surf industry dirt, or shocking insight, you won't find it here. Professional surfers do drugs sometimes. If you've read that last sentence you've ingested the sum total of information on offer.
If you're a fan of self indulgent rambling and unsupported claims you might like this book. I did not.
January 23, 2019
I have a crush on Chas Smith. Or, a 42-year old surf journalist who’s married with 2 kids. Every word he’s ever published is wildly overdramatised and overstated, absolute ramblings and tangents, and I can’t stop reading. Not just his books either, but his hilariously ridiculous BeachGrit articles that I tuned into just as another magazine editor punched him in the face. He’s ruthless and relentless and I love him. But I don’t love this book as much as his previous ‘Welcome to Paradise, Now Go To Hell’.
March 12, 2020
In the beginning I thought maybe it is too dry, that a surf journalist who provided lots of laughs in his day to day stuff, was taking the surf and coca history side of things a little too seriously. But it really picked up in the second half after the introduction of a couple of spicey characters and events and then Smith tied some unexpected threads together amid the yarns and documentation of the decline of the 20th century surf industry and suddenly I was into it and finding it hard to put down.
Moorish even...
Moorish even...
May 1, 2019
Atrocious editing leaves entire passages devastated while the writer carries on looking for their next assault upon the English language. There is maybe a tweet worth of thinking in the entire book while the rest is the rambling of an unemployed and unemployable pothead.
The single star is for using an all black binding allowing the book's use in leveling furniture or sustaining a perspiring beverage without simultaneously embarrassing the reader.
The single star is for using an all black binding allowing the book's use in leveling furniture or sustaining a perspiring beverage without simultaneously embarrassing the reader.
February 3, 2019
Interesting book. Writing style is fast paced and funny. Mostly is a book for the author to talk about himself, which I think is pretty spot on for the subject matter.
March 31, 2019
Cocaine and surfing are two pretty cool things that should make a pretty great book but it's mostly about Chaz and his insecurities, the biggest being his comfy middle class job. Weak!
November 21, 2019
All i can say is that its as if Chas Smith had verbal diarrhea and goes on and on about how surfers use cocaine and other random ideas and thoughts that go through his head.
It’s a pointless read.
It’s a pointless read.
June 17, 2018
I've not always been drawn to books about surfing and surfing culture, it's something that has crept up on me slowly since moving to Australia and holidaying in my happy place Waikiki. I've read the excellent Barbarian Days memoir whilst sat right on Waikiki beach, laughed at holidaymakers wobbling on body boards and watched competitions full of beautiful surfers wearing Roxy, Quicksilver and Billabong. I've taken numerous photos of the legendary Duke Kahanamoku (godfather of modern surfing) statue which sits proudly on Waikiki Beach. I watched in awe when Mick Fanning punched a shark in the face and I've bought Chia Pod pudding because Kelly Slater eats it and says it's good. That's the extent of my knowledge of surfing culture. Cocaine and Surfing schooled me in a love affair I didn't know existed.
Chas Smith starts off brutally honest in Cocaine and Surfing. There's no gentle warm up, Smith gets right to the business at hand. His hatred of the phoney culture, most of the surfers, and the big brands who both brought surfing into the mainstream, yet sold out on its behalf at the same time is obvious. One of the first things I picked up was that Smith doesn't seem to have many friends in the surfing world. Primarily due to his lack of filter, tact and open displeasure of the soulless surfing marketing machine, but he does acknowledge that he can be a complete dick at times. It's Smith's self-awareness of his failings which kept me engaged instead of hurling the book across the room.
Smith seems to resent his surfing journo career which has been his bread and butter outside of the exciting world of being a war correspondent. It's also clear that in tandem with writing Cocaine and Surfing, he's wrestling with his own self-doubt, career choices and tossed in a bit of mid-life reflection. There is a lot of Chas Smith in this book.
"[Chas] calls it like he sees it and in surfing that's not usually the case" - William Finnegan, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Barbarian Days
Chas Smith is an excellent journalist and an acerbic writer which is an interesting and entertaining mix. Smith refers to most of the pro surfers in his book by the name of their sponsor, not their name, and some of the take-downs are brutal and hilarious. I particularly enjoyed his open love for Kelly Slater. It was refreshing after so many pages of sledging to read that Smith has a heart, and a large part of it belongs to the universally beautiful and talented pro surfer.
Alongside personal interactions with various surfers, media, marketing dudes and surfing photographers, Smith delivers a thought-provoking expose on the relationship between cocaine and surfing culture. Starting 3000 years ago in Peru with the origins of the white powder, to the 70's when cocaine was Florida's biggest import. Smith then delves into today where cocaine seems to be as accessible as a beer. Why did these two worlds collide and why is there this strange and powerful love affair?
A particularly poignant story is that of the tragic early death of Andy Irons in 2010. A hugely successful surfer, known for his partying and 'going all in'. Irons died alone in a Texas airport hotel room and his wife was pregnant with their first child. The press and family listed his death as a heart attack, yet the rumour of drug use being a contributing factor was talked about in heavy whispers.
Who Should Read Surfing and Cocaine?
You don't need to be surfing mad to find Cocaine and Surfing interesting, this book is many things. A self-deprecating memoir of a surfing journo who maybe hoped for more. A book stuffed full of outrageous anecdotes. A serious journalistic investigation into cocaine use in surfing culture, and an expose of a world which is televised and promoted to show bronzed, healthy and squeaky clean sportsmen, but is actually a little grubby in places if you care to dive a little deeper.
Chas Smith starts off brutally honest in Cocaine and Surfing. There's no gentle warm up, Smith gets right to the business at hand. His hatred of the phoney culture, most of the surfers, and the big brands who both brought surfing into the mainstream, yet sold out on its behalf at the same time is obvious. One of the first things I picked up was that Smith doesn't seem to have many friends in the surfing world. Primarily due to his lack of filter, tact and open displeasure of the soulless surfing marketing machine, but he does acknowledge that he can be a complete dick at times. It's Smith's self-awareness of his failings which kept me engaged instead of hurling the book across the room.
Smith seems to resent his surfing journo career which has been his bread and butter outside of the exciting world of being a war correspondent. It's also clear that in tandem with writing Cocaine and Surfing, he's wrestling with his own self-doubt, career choices and tossed in a bit of mid-life reflection. There is a lot of Chas Smith in this book.
"[Chas] calls it like he sees it and in surfing that's not usually the case" - William Finnegan, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Barbarian Days
Chas Smith is an excellent journalist and an acerbic writer which is an interesting and entertaining mix. Smith refers to most of the pro surfers in his book by the name of their sponsor, not their name, and some of the take-downs are brutal and hilarious. I particularly enjoyed his open love for Kelly Slater. It was refreshing after so many pages of sledging to read that Smith has a heart, and a large part of it belongs to the universally beautiful and talented pro surfer.
Alongside personal interactions with various surfers, media, marketing dudes and surfing photographers, Smith delivers a thought-provoking expose on the relationship between cocaine and surfing culture. Starting 3000 years ago in Peru with the origins of the white powder, to the 70's when cocaine was Florida's biggest import. Smith then delves into today where cocaine seems to be as accessible as a beer. Why did these two worlds collide and why is there this strange and powerful love affair?
A particularly poignant story is that of the tragic early death of Andy Irons in 2010. A hugely successful surfer, known for his partying and 'going all in'. Irons died alone in a Texas airport hotel room and his wife was pregnant with their first child. The press and family listed his death as a heart attack, yet the rumour of drug use being a contributing factor was talked about in heavy whispers.
Who Should Read Surfing and Cocaine?
You don't need to be surfing mad to find Cocaine and Surfing interesting, this book is many things. A self-deprecating memoir of a surfing journo who maybe hoped for more. A book stuffed full of outrageous anecdotes. A serious journalistic investigation into cocaine use in surfing culture, and an expose of a world which is televised and promoted to show bronzed, healthy and squeaky clean sportsmen, but is actually a little grubby in places if you care to dive a little deeper.
August 15, 2023
His first book was fantastic. This book is a cocaine withdrawal in book form.
I get the impression he burned all his bridges and people won’t give him information anymore. Maybe a book called “cocaine and surfing” is too on the nose for interviewees to stomach. Perhaps there is an element of machismo in the North Shore regulation that made the first book appealing in a way that says “natives vs colonizers” and less of an expose on the surf mafia. There are some interesting bits in here like a surf magazine preferring a massive swastika on the cover instead of a #2 contest winner sarcastically burying his face into a pile of cocaine.
This book has the pacing and journalistic pedigree of a paranoid conspiracy theocracy theorist searching for pizzagate. Chas writes like he is in a midlife crisis, bordering on psychosis and withdrawal. He pontificates about the “glory days” of surfing which really are the days when white men made a bunch of money and threw parties to celebrate themselves.
He bemoans the corporate sell out of surfing but loves the money and drugs it awarded him and his buddies. His hatred goes towards the “normies”, and not the executives and industry insiders who profited at the expense of selling out the culture. His constant references to Christianity reveal him to be an insufferable elitist hypocrite. Chas is a surf nazi, with many passages spent ironically lusting after white men with blonde hair who were carved from marble. Men who are inherently superior perhaps and rule by violence and force… *ahem*.
Ultimately it is revealed that the purpose of this book is to make amends for an incident where he defended Andy Irons and justified his overdose as romantic and passionate, despite leaving a widow and a unborn child behind. He wouldn’t be the first person to fall for idol worship, making excuses left and right for a person who happened to surf well but was a total fuckup. Chas shows time and time again that he has bought completely into surfings cult of personality, even as he stares his daughter in the face, he professes his love for the debauchery, hedonism, the ego. He begins to make amends in the end of the book, but I don’t think he fully gets there.
There are multiple passages ripped straight from his first book. Much has changed since 2018 in the surf world. Chas now seems outdated, stuck in 2007 yearning for an era most people now see as tacky, sexist, and overtly white. Without his wild Hunter Thompson style cocaine orgy parties, Chas is lost. What, exactly, does Chas enjoy about surfing other than a superiority complex? Unfortunately, most of the surf industry is rotten and Chas is no exception.
I hope one day Chas can find enjoyment again. That he can actually ride waves passionately and find a way to surf and be a bad boy in a way that doesn’t hurt society and ruin his life. I’ll hold my breath. If he doesn’t, I imagine modern surfing will simply leave him behind.
I get the impression he burned all his bridges and people won’t give him information anymore. Maybe a book called “cocaine and surfing” is too on the nose for interviewees to stomach. Perhaps there is an element of machismo in the North Shore regulation that made the first book appealing in a way that says “natives vs colonizers” and less of an expose on the surf mafia. There are some interesting bits in here like a surf magazine preferring a massive swastika on the cover instead of a #2 contest winner sarcastically burying his face into a pile of cocaine.
This book has the pacing and journalistic pedigree of a paranoid conspiracy theocracy theorist searching for pizzagate. Chas writes like he is in a midlife crisis, bordering on psychosis and withdrawal. He pontificates about the “glory days” of surfing which really are the days when white men made a bunch of money and threw parties to celebrate themselves.
He bemoans the corporate sell out of surfing but loves the money and drugs it awarded him and his buddies. His hatred goes towards the “normies”, and not the executives and industry insiders who profited at the expense of selling out the culture. His constant references to Christianity reveal him to be an insufferable elitist hypocrite. Chas is a surf nazi, with many passages spent ironically lusting after white men with blonde hair who were carved from marble. Men who are inherently superior perhaps and rule by violence and force… *ahem*.
Ultimately it is revealed that the purpose of this book is to make amends for an incident where he defended Andy Irons and justified his overdose as romantic and passionate, despite leaving a widow and a unborn child behind. He wouldn’t be the first person to fall for idol worship, making excuses left and right for a person who happened to surf well but was a total fuckup. Chas shows time and time again that he has bought completely into surfings cult of personality, even as he stares his daughter in the face, he professes his love for the debauchery, hedonism, the ego. He begins to make amends in the end of the book, but I don’t think he fully gets there.
There are multiple passages ripped straight from his first book. Much has changed since 2018 in the surf world. Chas now seems outdated, stuck in 2007 yearning for an era most people now see as tacky, sexist, and overtly white. Without his wild Hunter Thompson style cocaine orgy parties, Chas is lost. What, exactly, does Chas enjoy about surfing other than a superiority complex? Unfortunately, most of the surf industry is rotten and Chas is no exception.
I hope one day Chas can find enjoyment again. That he can actually ride waves passionately and find a way to surf and be a bad boy in a way that doesn’t hurt society and ruin his life. I’ll hold my breath. If he doesn’t, I imagine modern surfing will simply leave him behind.
September 5, 2025
I’m older, and not a surfer, and so didn’t understand all the jargon, but that wasn’t the problem with this book.
It reminded me of a book I read not long ago. It feels like the author has decided on what sort a book he could write that could make a dent in sales, rather than something he really felt compelled to write.
A lot of the writing felt repetitive and meaningless. It was supposed to be “an outrageous expose”, but it was not in the least. I approached this book in a light, superficial way expecting this. As we sometimes do as a change from more serious reading. The author doesn’t really say much at all. I find it hard to believe that he was a war correspondent, and went to Oxford, although a recent superficially written book I read was by an academic.
I don’t know if the author realised the irony of his descriptions of his frequent drinking in regard to the destructiveness of cocaine. Is he so unaware as not to see this? Or he doesn’t see a connection? I don’t know.
Overall, this feels like a superficial, hollow moneyspinner.
It reminded me of a book I read not long ago. It feels like the author has decided on what sort a book he could write that could make a dent in sales, rather than something he really felt compelled to write.
A lot of the writing felt repetitive and meaningless. It was supposed to be “an outrageous expose”, but it was not in the least. I approached this book in a light, superficial way expecting this. As we sometimes do as a change from more serious reading. The author doesn’t really say much at all. I find it hard to believe that he was a war correspondent, and went to Oxford, although a recent superficially written book I read was by an academic.
I don’t know if the author realised the irony of his descriptions of his frequent drinking in regard to the destructiveness of cocaine. Is he so unaware as not to see this? Or he doesn’t see a connection? I don’t know.
Overall, this feels like a superficial, hollow moneyspinner.
December 24, 2022
Few books on surfing so when I found it at a used book store I bought it immediately. Disguised as a book about cocaine and surfing its really about the author and his confusion on how to continue his career. Selfish and NOT empathetic, did shine light on the industry I had no idea about. The way he writes is entertaining and makes the book a page turner. He got a new beach grit fan.
July 20, 2019
i thought it would be more interesting book, but i got into it. it’s as much about chas being a “surf journalist” as it is a primer on the coke scene in surfing. meh. i am going to read welcome... and give him another try.
February 25, 2020
Hilarious and fun
A funny and spot on dissection of the two main warring surf factions - the ASP and Olympic supporters and the core don’t care horde. Great reflections on the kings of surf and their chins.
A funny and spot on dissection of the two main warring surf factions - the ASP and Olympic supporters and the core don’t care horde. Great reflections on the kings of surf and their chins.
September 12, 2018
Good book, but Welcome to Paradise was much better. Reading them back to back you really noticed how much better his first book was.
November 21, 2018
Pretty good
January 23, 2019
Good idea, bad copy editing, self-indulgent; needs more vodka.
February 27, 2019
Middling. In dire need of proofreading.
May 2, 2019
As others have mentioned, this is not a book about cocaine and surfing, it is a book about chas smith's identity as a journalist. It's not great literature but it is an entertaining read.
May 8, 2019
A great read.
A look into surf culture that will surprise the average person. Well written, filled with surf history and interesting exploits.
A look into surf culture that will surprise the average person. Well written, filled with surf history and interesting exploits.
November 4, 2020
I’m not mad at this guy for writing a book, and I’m even interested in his other books. But this book isn’t a very good book.
April 6, 2023
Loved the idea and history of the love affair between surfing and athlete/Industry addictions but found the beginning of it to drag on too long
Displaying 1 - 29 of 32 reviews