Joel Tudor was a brat when I met him in the late 1980s. A very talented brat, but a brat, nonetheless. The rail-thin, freckle-faced, blond 13-year-old once stuffed grape gum into the crotch of my wetsuit before I put it on, paddled out, and shrieked in pain. While I have yet to repay him, when he surfed, all was forgiven.
He rode a longboard with the grace and style of the best of my generation, the ’60s generation. That, in part, because he had watched Donald Takayama, and the soul-smooth Skip Frye glide through the breaks in our area. When not surfing, Tudor the younger viewed David Nuuhiwa floating like a butterfly in “The Golden Breed,” a video he had on speed dial ever since he could crawl.
Recognizing his vast talent, I put him on the cover of a little surf magazine I was editing. A bit later, he was featured in the first revival longboard film, “On Safari To Stay.” That’s when Joel, Wingnut, legendary lensman Greg Weaver, Steve Cleveland (who went on to create half a dozen classic surf films) and I flew to Cabo for filming. That marked the beginning of surf stardom for Tudor and Wingnut, both of whom would help vault traditional longboarding back onto center stage.
By the early 1990s, I was hanging out regularly with the Tudor clan, mostly on the beach in Cardiff, where Joel and his older brother, Josh, regularly stuffed themselves into the lefts that peel across the reef. While Joel was reintroducing a then-lost art form to the masses, Josh was carving hard on far shorter equipment.
Papa Joe, the lone regular foot (left foot forward) surfer in the clan, was also in the mix, cranking hard turns and cutbacks before logging seconds-long noserides.
Joe’s wife, Denise, who didn’t surf, held down the beach while the boys dominated the water. Denise was ever ready with an encouraging word, a biblical verse or a sandwich for those in need.
She attended every surf contest the boys were in and could be heard cheering for anyone with the name Tudor as they ripped their ways to countless finals. She was also head cheerleader and den mother for the countless other competitors she knew.
Before Cardiff became too civilized, spearfishing was allowed there. We all spearfished and landed some good fish, but it was Josh who regularly landed the lunkers. At the time, the lot was left open until deep into the evening, and fresh fish were grilled over the hot coals of a still legal fire ring.
On special occasions, my wife, Tracy, and I would change into street clothes and accompany the family to The Beach House where the chefs, our friends Kiki and Luis, prepared the catch of the day, along with fresh artichokes, toasted garlic bread and ice-rimmed margaritas. If I were ever late to the party, I could locate the crew simply by following the sound of brisk conversation and hard laughter.
Well, that was a quick 35 years, and now Josh’s kids, Sutton and Wyatt, and Joel’s kids, Tosh and Judah, turn heads in lineups from Cardiff Reef to Seaside. Have you seen Tosh’s Instagram clips from Pipeline? They prove that the Tudor dynasty will rule for at least another decade.
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