These gals are doing their dads proud by taking on the big surf — and sexism

Fathers and daughters who surf together evoke the words of a surfer I overheard as he passed a man and a little girl paddling out: "Surfing with your daughter is one of the best things in the world."

But many fathers who now share the stoke with their daughters learnt to surf in a time when surfing alongside women and girls wasn't common.

Longboarder Grant Gilmour started surfing in 1975 at Snake Park Beach in Durban. He says there were very few women in the water then. "It was rare to see a girl paddling out."

This didn't stop Grant from pushing his daughter, Christy, into her first wave in Mozambique when she was six years old. Now, surfing with her is an integral part of his life, whether it's free surfing or participating in longboard contests.

"It's an amazing feeling, going surfing with your daughter," he says.

Grant's journey with Christy is in stark contrast to the gendered time in which he learnt to surf.

The nature of 1970s surf culture was captured by Lorna Currie in a 1977 article in Down the Line magazine, where she quotes surfer Philip Scales: "Everything has a place under the sun and a chick's place is not beside me on a board. It's a man's world and never more so than out in the water."

In his 2015 dissertation on gender, surfing and politics, historian Glen Thompson quotes a media report on the 1977 Hang Ten International held at Umhlanga Rocks, north of Durban, the first event to promote women's professional surfing in SA: "The comedy interlude before the men's final was the 'Women's International' ... where 4th to 8th places went to South African women who could barely stand."

TURTLE SURF

Gender barriers were consistently reinforced by the media's portrayal of men on the wave and women on the beach, up until the early '90s. Some surf industry players kept that sexist tone right up into the 21st century. Did this have an enduring effect on men who grew up in that era? Or have they become part of the change?

At Muizenberg on any weekend, the surfing landscape suggests that the generation of men who benefited from gender advantage aren't carrying those influences forward in their own families. They're doing the opposite. Not only are they supporting their daughters, they're actively coaxing and coaching them.

In the parking lot you'll find fathers working hard, unpacking multiple boards, zipping up wetsuits, pointing out the peaks. These dads are breaking a sweat before busting a move.

And it's not just at Muizenberg. Ronald Kingma, surfer and former judge at Dungeons Red Bull Big Wave contests, took his daughter, Kirsten, out for the first time at Point Beach in Jeffreys Bay in the Eastern Cape when she was four years old.

"We called it the Turtle Surf," says Ronald. "I paddled out with this little girl clinging for dear life to my back. After a few waves lying down we ventured to standing up — I could feel and hear the joy and excitement on my back."

Ronald started surfing in the '60s and didn't perceive surf culture to be gendered at that time. "Women were an integral part of the surfing scene, which at the time was about having fun in the sun and sharing waves," he says.

But he recalls a decline in female surfers in the '70s, alongside the shortboard revolution and the "influence of counter culture and drugs".

"This freaked many parents who steered their children away from surfing, and along with this the number of women surfing declined and surfing became ... male dominated."

He didn't steer his daughter away from surfing. "With my daughter I had no choice — she was the one who wanted to surf."

Ronald took Kirsten to Hout Bay and Muizenberg, where she learnt to surf. From there she progressed to Long Beach, Noordhoek, Outer Kom and eventually the Crayfish Factory.

One of the Kingmas' best bonding surf adventures was when Kirsten was 16 and they went on a surf trip to Bali. Kirsten was so amped when they arrived, she went surfing while the family was still unpacking. "She arrived back later after having an encounter with the reef," says Ronald. "Kirsten casually applied Mercurochrome to her bleeding head and headed back through the Keyhole.

"While we were at Uluwatu a huge swell pushed up from Antarctica and there were great waves ... on the Bommie," recalls Ronald. "It was low tide and standing on the reef the sets were relentless. Eventually there was a break and we paddled out."

Kirsten and Ronald planned a trip to G-Land, also known as Plengkung Beach, an internationally renowned surf break on Grajagan Bay, East Java, Indonesia.

"We stayed at Joyo's Surf Camp. Kirsten surfed from dawn to dusk, and on the last day the surf jacked to a solid 10ft [3m]... I put my foot down and managed to get Kirsten to watch the morning session from the tower. Watching the epic surf only seemed to make her more amped and there was no stopping her joining me for the afternoon surf — despite [others] jumping off the reef and getting pounded and dragged down through Speedies (the end section at G-Land).

"We walked up the reef to beyond Kong's where we found a current that took us out to the back, from where we paddled down to Moneytrees [a surf area on the reef famous for its fast wave faces]. Even in this solid surf Kirsten managed to sneak a few waves, which she still talks about."

ON THE BEACH

What about younger men? In his dissertation, Glen says the attitude towards women surfers hadn't improved much by the early '80s, particularly in Durban. "Explanations for this were to be found in the nature of the gender order within Durban's surfing culture, where male and female social expectations for women were to be on the beach rather than in the surf."

US historian Ryan Reft notes that "the 1980s might have represented the nadir of beach gender relations."

In a 1982 series of Zigzag articles, Kathy Ivanetich, a Californian biochemistry lecturer at the University of Cape Town married to US surfer Ward Walkup III, provided an outsider's view on why so few women were visible in the South African surf: "Women who want to surf are discouraged by their boyfriends' stereotyped conservative attitudes."

SURFING SISTERS

Have the attitudes of South African men changed or has their influence waned? Twenty-year-old recreational surfer and International Surfing Association-qualified judge Chloe Hutchison grew up in Ballito in KwaZulu-Natal and describes her father, shaper Johno Hutchison's efforts to get her into the water as "eager encouragement".

Johno learnt to surf in the late '70s and early '80s, when sexism was rife, yet he went on to teach Chloe and her sister Malia to surf. Chloe says her father's passion for surfing was tangible. "Surfing will always link us together in a very special way."

"My favourite memory," says Chloe, "was surfing at the Point in Ponta [Mozambique]. The waves were pretty solid that day and I was testing out a new board that my dad had just shaped. I was 10 and I was feeling nervous. My dad could see the sets coming and shouted, 'Don't look back, just paddle!' So that's what I did. I paddled into a huge wave and stood up. That was my first green wall experience and the best wave of my life. I'm so stoked that I shared that moment with my dad."

Chloe says Johno also taught them "valuable life skills, such as how to read the tides, currents and winds accurately... how to accept losing heats and how to be kind to everyone. He set an excellent example for us.

"The ocean has become a way of life for our family and I'm very grateful that I was exposed to it from such a young age. Surfing will always be a common foundation in our relationship."

In 2018, Chloe judged the Women's Ballito Pro. She explains the role of Johno, a professional surfing judge, in her own judging journey: "My dad has taught me everything that I know through training seminars and practical experience. I have forced myself to grow as an individual in this endeavour, without being in his shadow."

HOLDING YOUR BREATH

Ringo Mentasti, father of one of SA's most successful professional surfers, Tasha Mentasti, shares how he taught Tasha and her younger sister, Candice, to surf in Durban. He'd take them out at dawn; sometimes they were the first to jump off the pier. Occasionally the sunrise revealed bigger waves than they'd anticipated, but they surfed anyway.

"We used to be first at the beach," says Ringo. "It was still quite dark. They didn't always see the sets coming. Sometimes they would say, 'Isn't it a bit big?' But I would just tell them to jump off the pier and paddle. Surfing is 80% paddling."

Ringo taught them safety, about currents and rips, but also the importance of relaxing and holding your breath when caught inside, how to manage being held under. "A hold down is usually only about 15 seconds. Panic kills because that's when you take in water."

He remembers a time when Tasha got in a gnarly situation at Umhlanga, where there is strong rip off a sand bank. She was being continually sucked under and thrown over. Ringo was about to paddle over to help, but Tasha is a strong woman and a strong surfer. By the time he got there, she'd paddled herself to safety.

"I came in second and third in a lot of contests," says Ringo, reflecting on his own competitive surfing journey. "Not first." But things were different for Tasha and Candice. They both made the South African junior team. His own surfing dream of representing SA came true for his daughters.

Ringo says it was hard for them as girls when they learnt to surf. "It was more difficult. I'd have to go out and hustle for them," he says. "I'd sit on the inside and block for them."

When I spoke to Tasha about the challenges women surfers face, she told me that "starting surfing as a little grom (young surfer) around 11-years-old, I felt gender inequality from the outset". She found herself "having to make a really big effort to show that you deserve to be sitting on the inside of a crowded line-up".

Candice went on to university but Tasha continued pursuing her competitive surfing goals, travelling overseas to do so.

"Luckily I'm a competitive person," she says, reflecting on having to fight for her place among the men. "Inequality in the water only fuelled the fire to surf as good as the boys."

Supporting Tasha in her quest to become a competitive surfer was not without financial sacrifice for the family, especially when she spent six months surfing in Hawaii.

"It cost so much money," says Ringo. Even travelling to contests within SA was expensive. There were times when they relied on baked beans on toast or his wife, Leigh, made crunchies to sell.

But the sacrifice was worth it.

"Tasha achieved what I didn't," says Ringo. "She became a Springbok surfer."

Reflecting on a recent surf session with Ringo, Tasha laughs: "My dad isn't a man of many words." Except when he's is talking about his daughters. Then he emanates love and pride.

Grant Gilmour says his daughter Christy is a great surfer, with beautiful style. Sometimes he worries about her in big surf, but concludes, "She's a tough girl. She can take a knock or two."

Twice returning home from South African longboard championships with a trophy each are highlights of his surfing journey with Christy.

So, while in the '70s it was, according to Grant, "wild to see a girl in the water", today women's surfing continues to grow from perfect 10 to perfect 10. Many men of the male-centric surf culture generation haven't adhered to the gender stereotypes of that time by only teaching their sons to surf. They've not left their girls behind on the beach, as the surf media and surf industry did for many years.

Instead they've contributed to a surf culture that's growing in its inclusivity of women as surfers, by teaching their daughters to surf.

There's still work to be done. "Guys take advantage of girls as far as catching waves go," says Grant. "Tougher girls stand up to the guys."

It's finals day at a local longboard contest. The Gilmours both make the last four in
their divisions.

"Christy needs me," Grant says. He refers to contest strategy, not to whether she can handle the gnarly, windswept waves. His daughter has surfed her own way through the gale force northwester to get this far.

Christy pulls on the singlet. She crouches beside her dad, her arms around his shoulders, as they watch the ocean together while they wait. He helps her read the waves, a skill that takes years to master. Their faces are close as they collaborate on the perfect takeoff point.

Then she paddles out. Back on the beach, it's clear who her greatest fan is.