“Their boards were the real channel bottoms. Those two guys - two goofyfoots that shaped - they rode the shit out of them.”

-Bryan Suratt on Allan Byrne and Col Smith

Allan Byrne’s life and work was forever intertwined with channel bottoms surfboards. AB was shaping and refining versions of his classic six-channel up until his death in 2016. Col Smith, on the other hand, also committed himself to that particular design, yet Col passed away almost thirty years earlier, before Aussie surf culture began its historical project.

This makes 'Channel Man' an unashamedly backward looking documentary. It is, as the sub-title claims, Col’s story. A story that’s never been told about a man who’s long since passed. It’s also long overdue.

Col with his fleet of Pollard channel bottoms (Crows Garage)

The job of telling Col’s story was taken on by Nicholas Cupelli and Terry Campbell. Nick with the camera and the editing software, Terry working as producer, both of them first-time filmmakers. Fittingly, the duo met in the lineup at Redhead, with Terry the elder chatting to Nick the younger about a guy who, back in the 70s, burst out of Redhead - an unassuming town thirty minutes south of an unassuming city - and burned brightly for a few intoxicating years.

A fantastic subject but a daunting task. Despite Col’s legend looming large, and his legacy felt by anyone who’s ridden a channel bottom, there exists barely a few minutes of film with him surfing, and about the same of him talking to camera. Surf films, even surf docos, are marked by their dynamism - the colour and flash of action - but from the outset Nick and Terry were operating with different material.

To fill the void they’ve dug into the archives, clipped headlines and articles, scanned photos, and, best of all, they’ve lined up a rumple of talking heads. Old guys on camera, wrinkled and ungroomed, not always comfortable in the spotlight - all come from an era before social media switched people ‘on’ - but in their muttered recollections a sketch of Col Smith begins to form.

Before we get into that, there was some mumuring before premiere night about the choice of interviewee. For my mind, the filmmakers got the balance right, mixing Col’s rough nut mates and colleagues, those who could speak first-hand as they shared times with him, and a smattering of commenters who had little to do with channel bottoms but offered astute observations.

To outsiders, channels must seem a horribly arcane idea to base a documentary on. Like a case study of a straight line, where is the detail? But prior to multi-fin boards and concaves, channels were a breakthrough, offering both speed and hold when done right. Yet it took many shapers creating many versions to get them right. Fixed on a vision, Col dove in, with Nick and Terry charting Col’s progress through those late-70s, early-80s years.

His ideas in foam are one thing, and there are many old shapers to vouch for them, yet through the recollections of the Hawaiians - Michael Ho, Bryan Suratt, and the always hilarious Rory Russell - we get to the heart of the man. Col’s first year on the North Shore was 1977. The season prior ended with acrimony between the Hawaiians and Australians. Following perceived disrespect, Rabbit had his teeth knocked down his throat, Kanga guarded their Kui Lima apartment with tennis racquet in hand, and such was the fear and paranoia that when Drouyn heard rustling in a garden he asked no questions and slugged a coconut palm.

If the Hawaiians expected deference in ‘77 they might’ve been shocked at the sight of an unknown bloke rocking up with a fleet of four bizarre boards - Pollard channel bottoms, the likes the Hawaiians had never seen - and subsequently charging Pipe and Sunset. Col stormed the North Shore, winning the Pro Class Trials at Sunset, thus gaining entry to the Pipeline Masters where he made the finals.

The footage of Col's debut year on the North Shore comes from 'Fantasea' by Greg Huglin

Yet instead of resenting another upstart from Australia taking their prize money, the bruddas dug Col. Rory Russell called him “the most underrated surfer in the world” - wildly unexpected praise for an Aussie after the dark days of ‘76. 

The differing response matched the schism opening up in professional surfing, with Rabbit, Shaun, and Kanga on one side, who were willing to abide by the new rules, and on the other side sat those who couldn’t square away the wildness of surfing with corporate sponsorship. A camp that included all of the Hawaiians.

If it sounds like some lofty philosophical matter, then understand that common ground was found by something as simple as charging hard in the water then sharing a joint in the car park afterwards. The rolly as a metaphorical peace pipe between warring nations. “Just don’t put that tobacco in it,” as Michael Ho said.

Col was partial to a good time and the filmmakers lean into it, thank goodness, ‘cos it’s a part of his story. No point censoring it out. And in the retelling it helps establish Col’s disposition. A wildly creative surfer and shaper, who’s boards were on the leading edge of design, yet who was an ill-fit in the burgeoning professional world. He couldn’t be what he wasn’t.

Col with son Rique and wife Kim (Crow's Garage)

In a story as old as time itself, the arrival of a son and the needs of a young family imposed some practicality. Yet Col’s version was complicated by health issues which he was both reluctant to seek help or even talk about until it was too late. Interviewed by journalist Mike Willesee, Col is a dead man walking. For the family - son Rique, wife Kim - the footage is no doubt priceless.

So what price footage of Col talking about his designs? It’s not hard to find footage of other visionaries talking about their designs: Simon and the Thruster, Maurice Cole and the reverse vee, Webber and concaves. Such breakthroughs don’t happen without passion and a bit of madness, qualities undeniable in the above and no doubt present in Col Smith.

In my mind I picture him in delivery, not the buttoned-down Col chatting to the news camera with months to live, but a young surfer filled with joie de vivre, red-eyed and animated, running fingers up the board while explaining to his new mates how the channels work. “It’s like cheating,” he laughs.

Such footage doesn’t exist, obviously. I’m speaking hypothetically. An image borne of inspiration, my own sketch of a man I’d heard of but never met, yet now know that bit more about.

// STU NETTLE

The next screening of 'Channel Man' is Wednesday March 27th at Bells Beach Brewing. Purchase tickets here.