Kelly Slater is a washed-up, over the hill old man.
I would never say this to his face, mind you. Even writing it makes me a bit nervous for my safety. But with each passing day, he becomes more and more likely to be featured in a dick pill ad, holding hands with a mystery woman as they gleefully sit in their respective bathtubs and fly off into the sunset.
The fact is: Kelly is turning into an antique.
Time comes for us all. As we age, every creature deteriorates both mentally and physically. The fight to stay young becomes too overwhelming as we slowly come to terms with our own mortality. Thoughts begin to creep into your head of what the perfect elderly life should look like. One day, you are shredding your way up Mount Olympus, the next you are at Michael’s dialing in the perfect knitting needle setup to make a toasty knit cap for your chilly bald head. Even eleven-time world champion surfers fall prey to this.
Oh sure, Kelly can still surf; but 2019 is going to be his last year on the WSL tour. He is literally retiring. Most people use their twilight years to become bingo enthusiasts or start a Bloods vs. Crips bridge club feud with a rival nursing facility. Some may want to travel, but the idea of adventure and new experiences can become scary prospects as you age into the latter third of life. After witnessing a lifetime of the world’s horrors and disappointments, leaving the house can become a paralyzing thought. One can at least guarantee a decent amount of safety and predictability in their own home.
But Slater doesn’t get involved in senior center gang violence, at least to my knowledge. The guy likes to surf. A lot. And as progressive as California is, none of its assisted living facilities offer surfing as part of their curriculum.
So, with an eye towards his future, Kelly built the Surf Ranch in Lemoore, California. Touted in a reveal video as science and technology coming together to create the perfect wave, you see Slater ripping apart a gorgeous wall of water on a crisp California morning. But this video was not a revolutionary new surf concept being unveiled – this was the equivalent of your grandfather bragging about his meticulously groomed lawn on Instagram.
Kelly Slater didn’t build the perfect wave. He built himself a retirement home.
“Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch” – The name alone makes this place sound like someone put a cowboy hat on your average Jimmy Buffet fan. No one under the age of 45 refers to their house as a “ranch.” Unless you have livestock wandering through an expansive backyard, you do not have a ranch. You have a large home. Old people like to throw cute words like “ranch” out there to distract others from the truth. Ranch is merely a code word for “I have lots of money and can afford this palatial estate. In theory, it could house an entire cavalry of horses, but then I would have to give up my 5-car garage.”
He definitely has a wooden sign pointing towards his Thomas the Tank Engine powered wave that says “Beach.” The elderly love populating their faux ranches with tacky knick knacks. If I had the wave estate in Lemoore, I’d call it “THE WAVE FORTRESS FOR GOOD FRIENDS AND RAD PEOPLE” and stock it with burritos, bean bag chairs, puppies, and beer. This is the most perfect man-made wave in the world, not an overpriced vacation rental.
We are maybe three years away from a video coming out of Kelly having a relaxing morning SUP at the Ranch, followed by a hot cup of tea and a nap. Post slumber, he will enjoy a good book – until a bird will begin chirping a bit too boisterously for Mr. Slater, forcing him to slide a pair of reading glasses down his nose and crinkle his face angrily in the direction of his avian adversary. He will then make a phone call to his Congressperson DEMANDING they do something about the bird problem in this town. CAN’T AN ELEVEN TIME WORLD CHAMPION GET SOME PEACE AND QUIET?!
The Wave Fortress – uh, I mean, Surf Ranch – is a vast complex he holds the keys to where he can surf from now until the end of days unencumbered by the riff-raff of the world. After an entire life spent chasing waves, it must be nice to finally have a wave come to you that is always firing. Retirement sounds appealing because it is seen as an opportunity to finally do what you want without getting involved with the daily hassles of humanity. Opening the doors to your own private wave estate is the perfect retirement option for someone like Slater.
If you want to get a taste of that sweet secluded life, good luck getting in unless you are one of Kelly’s friends or have lots of cash to burn. Otherwise, be prepared for a large, neckless man in a KS Wave Co. branded suit instructing you to get off Mr. Slater’s lawn.
That’s because his desolate wave doubles as a destination wealthy people love throwing their time and money towards – a country club. Access to the wave costs an exorbitant $10,000. Do you know what you could do with $10K?
- Go on the surf trip of a lifetime where you could score the waves you always dream about
- Pay off a portion of your student loan debt
- Buy a new Kia
- You and three friends could walk into a Mexican food establishment and, upon being asked “What would you like to order?” be able to honestly respond with “Enough burritos to last each of us a year.” (Math based off a burrito = $6)
- Buy 100 Wavestorms
Or – OR! Hear me out – you could use your $10K to hang out by a pool, occasionally taking a dip for short periods of time (it only comes with an hour of wave access), and buying overpriced cocktails. This would last for only a day. Not even a day – an afternoon? Maybe a few hours? That sure makes the Surf Ranch sound like a glorified country club to me. Which is perfect for a place like Palm Beach, Florida. Oh, erm, hmmmmmm, about that….
These are the kinds of antics people with means love. Their financial status grants them access to an exclusive wave that is scheduled and regulated, which reeks of tee times and country club shenanigans. From the clubhouse (I assume an establishment like this has a clubhouse), you can surely have an adult beverage and criticize others – a time-honored tradition in both golfing and surfing.
Great. So, Kelly brought us golf. Thanks?
A great evil lives inside of Kelly, and that evil is Florida. His home state is one giant country club/retirement home, after all. It is in his nature to wear a Tommy Bahama shirt tucked into pleated shorts while discussing questionable business deals and shanking every drive off the tee. The Wave Ranch is his inner Floridian rising to the surface, so of course he wants to bring a little slice of The Sunshine State to California (which somehow is NOT nicknamed The Sunshine State). This will mean that insanely rich businessmen from around the country will come to Lemoore for business retreats, team-building exercises, and whatever other fancy names they want to give to “expensing a vacation.”
These people will be called “Lemoore Locals,” and they will consist of the most intolerable human beings nature, nurture, and a well-stocked trust fund can muster. They will believe this is what surfing is: forking over gobs of money for a somewhat solitary experience at the best, most exclusive wave in the world. A Lemoore Local will spend the rest of their life bragging they shredded the gnar of THE BEST WAVE.
Imagine Donald Trump tweeting about surfing. Now imagine Donald Trump attempting to surf. There is a vast gulf in truth between the story told and the events that occurred. That is a true Lemoore Local.
World champions do not need ranches. They do not fear the world, because they confidently conqueror it every day. A true champion takes a common wave and makes it look like a perfect wave. But that requires things like hard work, determination, and leaving the house every now and again. The adventure, and the willingness to embrace it, is a significant part of the surfing equation. To toss that to the wayside so Reginald McMoneyfuck and his monocle encrusted buddies can suck back gin and tonics while criticizing Baron Von Trump for his inability to pop up properly on his carbon fiber …Lost Tesla board seems like an affront to the entire sport and everything Kelly has accomplished.
But maybe that’s the world Kelly wants to be a part of. Maybe he wants his retired life to consist of rich guy golf foursomes, conversations about stocks and futures, and making tons of money off of other wealthy people, all while surfing the best man-made wave in the world. I could think of worse ways to live. Just because I don’t agree with the guy and despise the idea of charging someone a small fortune to surf in the middle of nowhere does not mean that he hasn’t created a fantastic retirement AND business plan. Slater brand waves may be around longer than Slater himself.
Kelly is destined to spend his post WSL days putt-putting around his ranch, eating progressively mushier foods, and yelling at his jet ski mounted surf caddie about the current events he just read in the newspaper. I bet he already finds a lot of joy in telling the younger surfers how much earlier he woke up than them. He’s a dinosaur that has built his own pasture to put himself out in. The only number 12 Kelly is going reach is a bottle of Macallan.
All of this being said – if I ever walk down a dark alley and encounter a bald, shadowy figure holding 11 world title trophies, I will be sprinting in the other direction.