Profile / John Bilderback

There are about 100 billion neurons that supposedly connect to some other 10,000 or so different neurons in some magic molecular manifestation of life and consciousness called the human brain. Compared to all other species of life here on Earth, mankind is blessed with a superior intellect. Well supposedly anyway, but the point is I don’t think I’ve ever met another human being, who utilizes all of those neurons and synapses in concert, with multiple calculations, strategies and concentration quite as well as Mr. John Bilderback. I’m sure of it. John and I hath jousted-explanation to come.

Through my teens and many of my professional years as a surfer I have had the great pleasure of working with many talented photographers and most photographers by trade are major nuclear brain welders when it comes to mad scientist photo theory and stuff.

However the frothing Mr. John Bilderback tops the list. Bilderback is a consummate photographer, musician, producer of all things kiteboarding and a fervent Freddieland afficiando.

JB and I were roommates for a stint and worked together getting “The Shot” on a daily basis when the waves were good. John was a budding cameraman and a new staffer at Surfing Magazine under the tutelage of Larry “Flame” Moore. Bildy struck me as numerically inclined and scientific with light and color, but his unique strength was a passion for water shots. Back then he did surf a bit and I recall him with a wide eyed smile once coined the word “Frepic.” This was in reference to Freddieland, which is of course is “Frepic” when Freddie’s is peeling and epic. Somewhere in the late 80’s JB installed a real life arcade game named “Joust.” Fun stuff. We roomed. We shot heaps of photos and we jousted.

The young man was dedicated and diligent and no slouch. This was back in the time when film cameras only carried 24 or 36 exposures so Bildy would literally be swimming most of the day gathering hundreds of water shots. With the evolution of digital photography John shot even more. His new book is testament to a journey well documented.

Pick up John Bilderback’s “Water Shots: Twenty years , all wet” on Amazon

Waimea Bay When this thing showed up and I grabbed the throttle, I sensed another ski in my periphery lighting up too. It was Hank. Hank Foto. We were aiming for the only part of this massive wall of water that hadn’t broken yet, at full speed. Now in this moment I know for certain that if I reach the top of a wave this size at this speed, I’m gonna fly high into the air, landing who knows what parts of me back on the ski, most probably dumping it in front of a potentially bigger wave that could already be breaking behind this one.

Peter Cole There were good reasons most people didn’t shoot Sunset when it was really big. One day, during the Xcel Sunset Pro, which every year always seemed to coincide with the biggest winter swells, my normal photographer’s ‘safe’ spot was closing out frequently. Huge walls of useless white energy were overwhelming the break. The slightly smaller ones really held potential for an insane shot, and they balanced the risk/reward equation, I went out. Since this was before jet skis, the lifeguard working the contest, Terry Ahue, was using a rescue surf board, a giant thick log of a thing with handles fiberglassed down both sides. It was huge, paddled well even with two passengers on it, and was also quite a handful when you had to let it go and bail. Now at this point boogie boards were new technology for photographers. Inflatable air mats had been the standard flotation for big wave water photographers and since we couldn’t get them under a wave, we’d let them go when we got cleaned up, and then we’d float for a while and they’d drift back out to us in the strong offshores and the giant riptide running out to sea.

Mike Ho One day the swell was forecast to increase swiftly. Yuri Farrant, a legendary film maker and I were watching Sunset early and decided we might be able to get out there while it was coming up and get some good shots before it got too big. We had an easy first hour. Then the sets quickly became more and more frequent and the rip ran like a river. We got pushed further and further outside, into deeper and deeper water and soon we were out of position no matter what we did. We paddled and kicked non stop towards the point. We conceded we’d stayed out too long when we sat up briefly, and saw Mike Ho on a huge board coming way out to us in the rip. ‘What the hell you guys doing out here?’ It wasn’t really a question, and it gave me chills. That told us both, we needed to go in. Mike is the authority on all things Sunset and knows us both well. He wasn’t exactly reprimanding, but his concern sobered up whatever foolish ambition we had of getting any more shots and focused us on how the hell we were going to get in.

Junior One bowling sunny afternoon, Perry Dane and Junior Moepono were getting ready to paddle out, and Perry unloaded a 45 caliber hand gun into the sand at the water’s edge. Unsurprisingly the shots had an immediate effect on the crowd in the water. People scattered. They were paddling in every direction, some in, some out, some heading to the next break over. Some just paddled out to sea.

Johnny Boy I could see what a fine line you walked around Johnny. Behave, be strong, ‘no ack stoopid’ and he would treat you like a brother. ‘Ack up’ on the other hand, and you’ll get donuts fast, big ones, that leave marks. Note to self: no ack stoopid. This hill in front of the hotel looked one way towards the town, the other way towards the beachbreak and The Point, and it was in full view of a military training base, where surprisingly young men were given surprisingly big guns to play with. Off in the distance we could see a patrol of about four of these guys running on the sand with weapons and packs on their backs.

John Bilderback

Jason Majers – Waimea For me, the set was a fortunate warning. The whole rest of the day I kept one eye peeled for another set like that, positioning myself a little further out than normal and ready to dig out at any second. The surf was verifiably huge and I did not want any part of getting caught inside of a breaking 30 foot close out. I shot and shot. In these days, going all out you might shoot three rolls of film. About a hundred photos. And that meant reloading film while you were on the ski. It was an awkward and anxious affair of towels and wing nuts. You had to somehow dry your whole housing off and then your hands, in a dripping wet wetsuit before you could expose and then reload your camera. The moment between when you pulled the spent roll of film out of the camera and the moment it was safely tucked away in something waterproof was the worst. One slip and it goes over the side and you’ve risked your life for nothing. I remember trembling just getting it into the little film can.

Felix I’d been told to, “Have an open mind”, by Darrick Doerner one summer when Oahu’s North Shore was predictably flat. He said, “Learn to wind- surf!” Now this was offensive at first, I was a SURFER. (Insert childish indignity towards all things not surfing…) All that gear, those guys looked like dorks, I don’t know. Then I realized it was good enough for Gerry Lopez, it was good enough for Laird Hamilton, what, I was too cool? Hardly. So I got a windsurfing wave board and taught myself to sail at Backyards, basically the equivalent of learning to drive at the race track.

Hokule’a In 2016 Hokulea was nearing the halfway point of the voyage. If you get a globe and put your finger on the Hawaiian Islands, and put another finger as far away as you can go, it’s on South Africa. So this leg was a real milestone. Not only had Hokulea successfully gone halfway around the world, but beyond this point we would be heading towards home instead of away from it. Little did we realize we were closer than we thought. In icy 50 degree water, Nainoa, Archy Kalepa and Sam Kapoi took Dr. Foster’s challenge to swim without wetsuits – just like he did, just like our ancestors. He contended that your body would quickly acclimate to the cold and actually heighten your awareness.Things you might not have noticed before, jump out.Time was limited in 50 degree water, pulling ourselves along the sea bed in the kelp forest imagining what the very first people to do this felt.We retreated to land to process what we had seen and been taught. I tried to imagine the very first person to go in, and go underwater.We were all tied to each other, across the planet, from Hawai’i to Africa and back through that bold man or woman. Our mission never felt so on track as those hours on that coast.

Eddie “One morning I found myself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s truck.We were taking his son Makua to school with two of his friends, Ryan Rawson, son of the legendary shaper Pat Rawson and another kid I only knew as Lobsterman, which might have been from the amount of time he spent underwater at Velzyland, I’m not sure. But it was morning time, the kids were still waking up, and as we turned onto Kamehameha Highway, we passed a bus stop. At the bus stop was a young girl in a wheelchair with an obvious disability. As we passed the boys noticed her and made some kind of joke between themselves. Eddie looked over at me with ice in his eyes. I knew that look. Somebody was about to geta lesson.”

Dane The crowd at Velzyland was like the local legislature.The rules were made here. And basical- ly if you didn’t follow the rules – never drop in on someone, never paddle around someone, never ruin someone’s barrel by being in the way – you had to leave or get lickings, sometimes both. The Ho brothers, the Moepono brothers, Dane Kealoha, Perry, Johnny Boy, Fast Eddie, and others ran the show for years. I immediately learned some of the surfers hated photographers. I learned how to read the crowd and spot subtle reactions to me being out there, in case I was unwelcome. Certain days were easy and fun and certain days the crowd didn’t need me making things any worse by fueling even more competition for waves. I saw many punches thrown. Occasionally I’d been told to ‘f-ing beat it’.

Cuba Car Hokulea arrived in Havana from the Eastern Caribbean and was inspected by the Cubans.We were told that the satellite phone we had onboard for emergencies was strictly off limits – no use in Cuba allowed period – and they sealed it in plastic wrap. We really hoped we might get a call from the state department or one of Obama’s people, so we carried it around with us anyway, hidden. Braddah Barry might call. I was starry eyed, imagining a photo for the book,The Hawaiian President standing onboard engaging with the crew, in Cuba, of all places! Talk about spanning borders, bridging cultures, connecting, it had it all. I even imagined ‘braddah Pres’ getting in the spirit and donning a traditional Polynesian malo (loin cloth) with a little presidential emblem on the front. Some little gold embroidered eagle with arrows in its talons, right on his package. Sorry I’m just a visual thinker… Anyway, the Rolling Stones were also in Cuba that week holding an historic show at the giant Havana sport stadium. It was a big week, and unfortunately when it was over the football never rang. Or beeped, or whatever it does. Barry was kinda busy I guess.

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