Mauritius is home to a collection of world class waves, but the notorious locals dubbed ‘the white shorts’ have made things unpleasant for many surfers who have visited. Back in 2015, after returning from his ninth trip to the Indian Ocean island, Craig Jarvis shared a few ‘Hard Rules‘ to follow when visiting the ‘tranquil’ island of Mauritius. After another incident hit the headlines recently, Clayton Truscott penned the following piece, which originally appeared here, in response.

Tamarin Bay: Information Overload With A Chance of Being Eaten Alive

Am I in a cult?

That’s the question that springs to mind when videos like this one crop up online.

To the outside world, the scenario is hard to explain:

• A grown man is surfing his local break
• He sees a child riding a soft-top with a GoPro in mouth; doesn’t like it
• He slaps the child to make a point
• Then paddles back out for more waves
• Soon, the child’s dad shows up and demands answers
• The local surfer and his friends decide to beat the dad up; again, to make a point
• Again, he carries on surfing; possibly considers chicken or beef on the barbie

You might not be able to defend the logic, but most surfers understand the tweaked logic behind the situation.

Like, you know the characters and have seen some variation of this go down.

Surfing can be a selfish thing.

Sure, there’s ritual, exercise, the appreciation of nature, and a sense of community baked into the equation. But catching waves is not a team activity. Nobody likes to share this experience.

For the sake of order, there are international rules that govern priority in the water. You don’t have to speak the same language to know who has the right of way. The person sitting deepest generally wins. It’s not goddamned rocket science if you understand the dynamics of catching waves.

Still, we all try to get away with as much as we can within the boundaries of those social constructs. Everyone has, at some point, taken more than their share of waves or hassled someone unnecessarily.

Early in our relationship, my wife witnessed me throwing a tantrum over not being able to surf for a third consecutive week. I was working two jobs and going to school, and the odds were not in my favor; when I had time there were no waves, and when there were waves I had no time. That’s just how it goes, sometimes. She heard me cursing the weather and my commitments, acting like I’d been severely wronged by every member of my family, and told me I sounded ridiculous and embarrassing.

I agreed. But knowing that it would be another week or two before I could surf felt like cruel and uncalled for punishment. And it was unbearable.

That feeling is what I would imagine has metastasized and run wild and unchecked in Mauritius.

I do wonder what would happen to me on an island like Mauritius, with a perfect left and only a handful of really good days a year — maybe I’d become an idiot, too?

At any decent wave, the local surfers are often on the best waves on any given day. This is a simple equation. They know the spot, the nuances of the setup, and have earned their place in the lineup over time.

Tamarin Bay is a weird exception to this rule.

It’s a great wave, but it’s fickle and the French expat locals (aka White Shorts) are nuts. I was in Mauritius a few years ago to write a story and had an opportunity to paddle out when it was pretty good — and witnessed the White Shorts put on a display of localism that bordered on lunacy. They were brazen and unapologetic and confident in their reputation for violence. The fact that hardly any of them could get barreled at their sacred break made their behavior hard to respect or justify.

To the outside world — even within the surfing community — it would appear that a bunch of kooks is holding the spot captive.

Maybe I have this wrong, but nobody I spoke to could give me a good reason why they’re protecting the wave with so much anger.

Is that even the point?

People always say that surfing is a great way to turn your brain off and forget about the problems of the world for a few hours. That it’s totally relaxing and peaceful.

That’s not the case for me. I find that nowadays I can only switch off for the few seconds that I’m actually riding a wave. The rest of the time, I’m thinking about finding the right spot, my family, what we’re doing later, running over questions that normally keep me up at night. Or just stressing about sharks.

That’s life in today’s world: information overload with a chance of being eaten alive.

Most days, if I can come in with just a handful of great waves and a few moments of peace, I’m happy. I don’t know if that’s progress, but peace is not an easy thing to find these days.

At what point does the grown man in question stop what he’s doing and ask: is protecting your surf spot from fame worth slapping a child?

The existence of the Internet makes this situation a zero-sum game for this character. The only thing keeping him going, taking swipes at his fellow surfers, is blind faith in a system that only applies to locals who own their place in the lineup with dignity.

I recently heard someone tell me that perception is reality. That whatever we choose to believe is real for us. If someone thinks that you’re rude or selfish or stupid or lazy, it’s up to you to visit the psychic toll booth of your own soul and decide: is that true? And if it is, are you okay with that or do you want to change?

Maybe the locals at Tamarin Bay are long past that point. Maybe they’re totally fine with being labeled bat-shit crazy. Maybe they’re glad that this incident has blown up online.

Because it all washes out on the next good day when they can have a few moments of peace.

*Opinions expressed in the article are those of the author*