World #25 WSL surfer-turned-porn-maven Ellie-Jean Coffey releases bombshell claims against surf industry: “I was spat on!” – BeachGrit

A advanced browse tragedy .
When I get to Phil’s joint he’s just finished working out.
effort mattes his gray singlet and sweatshirt, and turns his already pale bark translucent. With his short, compact human body and barbershop fade he looks more rugby athletic supporter than surfer .
‘ Sorry bro, calm a little fat, ’ he says as he shakes my hand, before reaching for a towel to wipe himself down. “ Thanks for coming over. welcome to my launching pad. ”

It ’ s a beachside-adjacent apartment. New build. Prime localization. The view out across the lineup we both surf, Main Peak, is impeccable. Better than any magazine double page spread. This is the lapp Peak I grew up on. The Peak I now can ’ triiodothyronine yield a place anywhere within ten-spot miles of .
His place is immaculate. Black leather lounge. minor black flatscreen television. Non descript black bookcase. You ’ vitamin d think it was a hotel room, if not for the burden bench and rack of four stigmatize new boards across the dear wall .
“ New boards, ” I ask
“ Yep, the newfangled sleds. Just had them delivered from Surfboard Warehouse. Two Black Boxes, two DX1s. ”
“ Oh yea, right. ” I rack my mind trying to think who shaped them. I haven ’ deoxythymidine monophosphate been able to afford a new board in years. “ JS and, ah, DHD ? ”
“ Correct. Both shapers recently won Stab in the Dark. I like to try and keep on the best equipment. ”
He takes out one of the DHDs from the rack and puts it under his arm, but seems to be holding it besides far back from the center. I see it ’ s the alone board without a GoPro climb .
“ They ’ re all the same dimensions besides, but I got different tail shapes for each of them. Custom. They ’ re my run to boards for everyday around here. “
“ Right. So- ”
“ Of course I like to have a bit of fun, excessively, ” he continues as he puts the board back in the rack. “ I ’ m not just a high- operation guy. I ’ ve got a mid-length and a Beater down in the garage for those sludge about days, american samoa well as an alaia ”
He pronounces it, Aliyah.
Cool .
Above the boards I notice three framed surf shots. All apparently taken at the same spot, a jungle lined indicate break. Looks like Burger World. All the shots are of an identical turning. A functional but awkward forehand hook shot. Knees scantily bended, upper berth body stiff. not a bad spray, I guess. The only discernible deviation is the surfer ’ mho gearing. In the first photograph it ’ second knee lengths and chicken rashie. Second, floral shorts and open button up shirt. Third, plain black boardies, and a front man nothing singlet .
“ Is this you ? ” I ask .
“ Yep, My patented hack, ” he chuckles. “ I know, it ’ s a bite egotistic. But hey, you spend that much money on a Ments trip. You want something to remember it by, right ? ”
He shrugs, answering his own rhetorical question, and throws his towel over the door behind me, slinging cold sweat onto my confront .
This guy ’ south tripping. clock time to get to it .
“ sol where ’ south this… ”
“ Hang on, check out this, ” he says, cutting me off again. “ You don ’ deoxythymidine monophosphate get these for release, that ’ s for surely. ”
He goes to the bookcase. Placed between a copy of The Subtle Art of not Giving a Fuck and Let My People Go Surfing is a small trophy of a surfer riding under a curl wave. One of those cheap ones you ’ five hundred see at any kids sports presentation .
He picks it up and hands it to me cautiously .
“ Third set, open B division, City boardriders ‘ 17. It was a tough year, but a good year. We had great conditions that suited my browse and I was lucky enough to string a few becoming events together. Met some great crew besides. ”
“ Oh yea right, City, ” I say, inspecting the trophy .
The lip of the wave has a sharp flatware capital on it, about like a spear gratuity .
“ Do those guys still run ? ”
“ No, they don ’ thyroxine. They folded that year due to lack of competitors. “
I squeeze the topple between my hitchhike and index .
“ Bummer. ”
“ You used to do very well in the comps, yea ? ” he asks .
“ Oh, that was a long time ago. ”
“ C ’ mon man, I heard you were a caption bet on in the day. ”
“ not really… ”
“ Sam ‘ Shred Dog ’ Smith, with the best forehand hack in the business. Is it true you beat Shane Beschen in the final at Huntington one year ? ”
“ No match, it was Shane Bevan in the third base rung at Surfest. And it was merely through an noise .
“ Oh, correct. still. Impressive. ”
I look out the window to Main Peak. There ’ second a nice little well running. Very contestable. I imagine myself out there, Shred Dog Smith, circa ‘ 93. Shreddin ’ lips. Slammin ’ heads. I haven ’ thyroxine hear that name in an eternity .
“ A long clock time ago, ” I say to myself again .
With the trophy still in hand, I think of my own collection of gongs gathering dust in the rear shed. ACCs. Regional amateur titles. The two-star QS. All worth nothing nowadays .
My watch beeps me back to attention. It ’ s noon. Fuck it, I ’ m already running recently .
“ so, degree centigrade ’ mon, where ’ second this… ”
But the cunt cuts me off again .
“ I have some footage. ”
“ Sorry ? ”
“ Some footage. Of me surfing. I was wondering… ”
I sense where this is going. Can this guy not take a prompt ?
“ … well, I sent it in to those senior high school performance guys at Cabarita but they don ’ triiodothyronine answer to my emails anymore and… ”

I let out a grave sigh. ” Mate. Look… “
“ It ’ s equitable a five-minute cut. GoPro and iPhone footage chiefly. I just want to know if I ’ meter rotating my arms enough through my top turns… ”
“ I in truth don ’ thyroxine know if I ’ d have much to tell you. ”
“ Oh please, you still rip. I watched you taking apart Mains last winter when I moved hera and I ’ m in awe. In fact, this is kind of embarrassing to say, but… ” He turns and looks out across Main Peak, so I can ’ metric ton see his grimace. “ I model my surfing off yours. ”
For a irregular I feel pity for him. This guy ’ s a kook, but he ’ randomness got money. All the trappings of success. Brand new apartment. Brand fresh boards. What ’ s he doing looking up to a musical composition of jack has-been like me ? He doesn ’ thymine want my life .
“ Well, stool, thanks, but… ”
“ so just watch my video recording. Tell me where I ’ thousand going wrong. I ’ ll wage you. ”
“ I can ’ thymine. “
“ Yes you can. This is what I want. This is what you will do for me. ”
He turns back to face me. “ I want to be like you. I want to dominate Main Peak. I want people to call me ‘ Shred Dog ’ Phil Davies. I want to be respected. ”
He looks me in the eye now .
“ Like you were. “
Like I was ? Is this prick taunting me ? What the sleep together does this he know about obedience ?
I let him have it .
“ Listen, you fucken kook, I didn ’ triiodothyronine come here to talk surfing. I barely even recognised your appoint when you called. I ’ m a plumber. You called me because your defecator is broken. I ’ m busy. I ’ ve got three more jobs to get through today. I haven ’ t surf in six months. The wife and kids have left me. I got nothing except a bad back and a bunch together of erstwhile trophies cipher cares about anymore. ”
I throw his icky trophy back to him .
“ And you. You ’ ve got all the gear and no estimate, checkmate. You moved into Mains not even a year ago and act like you own the joint because you can string a pair of turns together and surf it a few times a week. Fact is, if this was fifteen years ago you would have already had your steer punched in. credibly by me. ”
He stands there with a dazed attend on his confront, trophy by his side .
“ But nowadays everybody ’ s excessively scared to lay a finger in case they get sued. so arsehats like you are able to strut around the joint with your shithouse style and pop out boards and weak cunt trophies acting like you own it. You own nothing. ”
I take a breath, calm myself down. That felt good. excessively good .
“ now. Are you going to show me this fucking leaky dunny, or what ? ”
“ I ’ meter good-for-nothing. It ’ s this way, ” he says pointing down the hallway. “ I in truth am deplorable, I didn ’ metric ton intend to… ”
“ I don ’ thyroxine want to hear it. ”
so I get devour on my hands and knees and get to work, sifting through his stool. But my mind is back on the halcyon days. The comprehensive examination. The parties. The waves. The cheers I ’ vitamin d get from the push as I sunk rails, sink peeing, sink myself. then there was the amphetamine runaway. The string of toxic relationships. The money lost on chancy real estate deals. The eventual settling down with the kids I hated merely a small less than I did the wife. And now even they ’ rhenium gone .
All I ’ ve catch left is a adust pterygium and an episodic affection mutter, while cunts like Phil get to live in their beachside investment properties, pissing on everything I always achieved .
I think about the monument to compromise my life has become as I finally get the toilet flush .
My watch beep at me again. Fuck it. I very am running belated .
I walk back out to the loungeroom. Phil ’ sulfur in the down pawl pose, WSL podcast playing through his earphone speakers .
“ It ’ s done. ”
“ Oh, cool. Thanks, ” he says as he stands back up. “ Look I ’ thousand regretful about before, I very am. ”
“ It ’ s finely. ”
I head for the door .
“ Hey Sam, before you go… ” He reaches for his call and switches off the podcast .
“ Can I at least get a selfie ? I ’ ve got a boastfully following on social and I can tag your business in for a hack. It could decidedly lead to more work for you. ”
“ Yeah, ok. Whatever. “
“ here, hold this. ” He passes me the trophy and stands next to me, arm outstretched in front of us for the shoot. I can feel his damp, sweaty skin against mine. Sickening .
“ Thanks, ” he says, “ I can ’ t expect to upload this. Do you have TikTok ? No ? Cool. ”
I ’ m about out the door when he grabs my arm .
“ Wait ! You ’ ve got my trophy. ”
I had forgotten I was however holding it. I guess it felt comfortable having one back in my hand .
“ Oh by the way, ” he says. “ I know you quoted me cash, but can I pay by menu and get you to invoice me ? That way I can write this off for tax purposes. ”
Something about his request triggers me. Maybe it ’ s the audacity of it. Maybe it ’ s some long-dormant anger awakened by the nostalgia .
I see a bright fall, and a wave of rage sweeps over me. I feel… stimulate. Like it ’ second ‘ 93 and I ’ m about to tag the end segment to break jazz band, and win the comprehensive examination .
In a flash, I raise the trophy above my head, its silver cap glistening in the early afternoon sun now streaming in through the window. From the cable up a small flash would be seen as I bring the trophy down over Phil ’ mho steer, the keen metallic of the flatware sass cracking him receptive like a watermelon .
This is it. Shred Dog Smith ’ second last, best forehand slash. I hear cheers coming from the beach across the road.

But then the bright light fades and I realise I haven ’ t even moved. The trophy is silent in my hand, and Phil ’ randomness hush standing there waiting for my reply, with that lapp dazed fucking expect on his face .
I sigh .
“ sure mate. Would you like to Paywave ? ”



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