Jai Walsh: A Refreshing Disregard for Traditional Lines

A tale of punts and betrayal.

There’s a slice of the NSW coastline that’s magic in every respect.

An abundance of beautiful spots to hang out, minimal humans, and enough quality waves per kilometre to rival pretty much anywhere in the world (if you know where to look)—the fortunate gaggle that grew up here are as content and laid back as they come. So much so that it takes you a day or so to adjust to the pace, and the next thing you know you’re locked into the good life and never want to leave.

Jai Walsh’s from a particularly sleepy and picturesque nook of this stretch of coast. Raised on a steady diet of pumping beachies out the front, 90s grunge playlists on youtube and Warren Smith, Jai’s a little different from the dyed in the wool locals ’round these parts. And his surfing’s very much in the same vein—raw, a little punk, with a refreshing disregard for the traditional lines expected in quality surf.

I was thinking about going down the coast to hang out with Jai and the boys last weekend, but Maz Zappas—the guy that made this film—told me that “everyone was out of town” for the weekend, the surf was going to be shit, and he was sick, so I canned the idea. Next thing you know I get a text saying that the surf was actually pretty fun, and then in the ultimate act of betrayal, I see a photo of Max, Jai and Tito (adopted son from Guadeloupe) sitting around having arvo beers. Why then, I hear you ask, are we here? Well because Walshy’s got a new sponno and I’m stoked for him, and because he shouldn’t  have to suffer at the hands of his deceitful filmer. All I can say is this Max Zappas—my revenge will be swift and severe.

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