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					Waves of Warning                                                        Glenn Hening




Chapter 4 - Surf for Sale


    It was an unusually gloomy day in the heart of the surf industry. The Catalina
eddy was blowing a thick, dirty mist against the glass curtain walls of Wavelife
International’s corporate headquarters in Newport Beach. The view from the top
floor was anything but grand, and the mood in the executive conference room was
just as gray.
   Ian Clark was waiting outside the room, ticking off his pitch points, when the
door opened and he was motioned to come in. There were seven people sit ting
around the table and they were all staring at him. No introductions were made, and
no one said a word. The silence put him off balance. Then he realized that if he lost
control of the meeting, he’d never get it back, and if that happened, he’d be
walking out the door empty-handed. The very thought practically drained the blood
from his gameface. But then his survival instinct kicked in, his mind switched to
autopilot, and he began his well-rehearsed presentation to the people at the top of a
corporation in trouble.
    "Ladies and gentlemen, many thousands of miles to the southwest of this room
there is a range of undersea mountains crowned with coral reefs that have been
avoided by sailors for centuries. They are not on any maps, and are hundreds of
miles from the nearest inhabited islands. Now, most open ocean reefs are too
shallow and irregular to surf safely, but - - -”
   “But what, Clark? My surfers aren’t about to surf some death reef in the middle
of nowhere no matter what you try to sell us,” interrupt ed Roberto Mercante,
founder of the company, from the other end of the table, “So why are we here?”
   The interruption was just what Clark needed. He snapped out of his fear and the
adrenalin kicked in.
  “Times have changed, Roberto, so why don’t you just relax and pay attention?
You might learn something,” said Clark, his tone of voice purposefully sharp.
     "Global warming is here to stay, and for a lot of people that’s bad news. Of
course, some are trying to reduce their contributions to this ecological disast er,
although by all the chrome SUV’s I see down there in the parking lot, I’d say we
still have a ways to go.”
    Clark didn’t see the dirty looks he got from June Wilson, Wavelife’s Wall
Street liaison, and Bill Massara, the company’s chief financial officer , who had
both made a lot of money in recent years at Wavelife as evidenced by their
ostentatious urban assault vehicles parked conspicuously near the front door.
   “And who knows? Maybe Mother Nature will be able to absorb the excesses of
our society and begin reversing the trend. In the meantime, the world ocean is


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                         20
Waves of Warning                                                         Glenn Hening


becoming a stern judge of man’s folly, the sentence will not be commuted, and a
parole hearing is a long way off. We have fallen from grace with the sea, or so the
environmentalists would have you believe.
    "The reality is, of course, that as long as you can sell t -shirts and trunks in
Kansas, the consequences of rising sea levels won’t mean squat to your bottom
line. Yet, somewhere in your cash-strapped conscience there must be a twinge of
regret over the current situation – I’m referring to global warming, not the
downturn in your stock price.”
   The vibe in the room was now becoming really edgy, exactly as planned.
    “Ok, so much for the tree-hugging. After all, in our wonderful world of modern
surfing, is there anything more important than contests, big wave reputations and
price points?” said Clark, daggers of sarcasm stabbing with every word.
    Now he had their complete attention, and especially that of Cheryl Corlund, the
CEO of Wavelife. With her blond hair cut short, piercing green eyes and a steel -
trap mind, she intimidated everyone in the surf industry. And now here was a guy
trying to yank her chain.
    “Get to the point, Clark. I don’t have all day, much less another five minutes for
this bullshit.”
   “Ok, sorry for all the doom-and-gloom. I forgot, rising sea levels and global
warning really have nothing to do with the sinking stock of a company drowning in
debt. Or do they?”
   Clark paused and made careful eye contact with each and every person sitti ng
around the table. He had them right where he wanted them. He looked straight at
Cheryl Corlund.
    “So let’s get down to business. I’m here to offer you the chance to get in on the
discovery of waves that could not have been ridden until global warming cau sed a
rise in sea levels, waves that are now bigger and more perfect than anything ever
seen in the history of surfing. It is my guess that such an opportunity may have
some value to Wavelife International given your current situation.”
   He took a disk out of his shirt pocket and sailed it down the table without
breaking eye contact with the CEO.
   “Here you go, Roberto, let’s take a look at this.”
   Mercante’s dark Brazilian eyes glared at Clark. He inserted the disk into the
DVD player and lobbed the remote control back to Clark. A color balance image
appeared on the huge plasma screen mounted on the wall. Clark moved out of the
way to reveal shaky images of a briefcase, a seat, a window, and then a zoom down
from a plane flying at ten thousand feet over a vast blue ocean.
   The group watched in silence. Forty-five seconds later, Clark hit stop as the
camera turned away from the plane’s window. Nobody said a word. Clark sensed
he had exactly what Wavelife needed. A second later, he knew he was right.
   “Where is this place? And when can I go there?” demanded Mercante.


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                           21
Waves of Warning                                                       Glenn Hening


   Clark’s smile was just this side of a smirk. The bait had been swallowed. Now
he’d set the hook.
    “All in good time, my friend. Let’s talk about the surf for a moment, why don’t
we? The waves are twenty-five feet high, maybe bigger, coming in every twenty
seconds, and the ride will be almost a mile long. Oh, it also looks like the wind is
straight offshore.”
   “Show it again,” said Heath Larson in a commanding tone backed up by his
reputation as the best big wave surfer in the world.
   Ian Clark sensed the challenge and confronted it directly.
   “What for?” he asked with disdain, “You can’t see anything anyway.”
   “So what the hell are we doing here, Clark?”
   Mercante’s temper was at the boiling point. He had been one of the pro circuit’s
hottest surfers until his favela roots took hold and he began to compete in the surf
industry. But he quickly found out that in the garment business, surf savvy was
nowhere near as important as bean counting. That was why his wife continued to
use her maiden name, and that was why a quick darting look from her green eyes
was all he needed to know he was to shut his mouth immediately.
    Clark saw the silent exchange and played off it perfectly to take total command
of the room.
   “I’ll tell you what you’re doing here, Roberto. You’re trying to save your
company, and you’re listening to me because I know how you’re going to do it.
Now stop wasting everybody’s time and just pay attention.”
   He tapped two clicks on the remote and up came Geosurf’s logo and a column
of icons, each containing moving images of perfect waves from Geosurf’s
exclusive surf zones. At the bottom of the menu was a final selection labeled
“Under Development” with just a generic icon and an “X” on it. Clark scrolled
down to it and clicked the remote.
   The last frame from the original clip began to grow as if through an unlimited
zoom lens, simultaneously coming into perfect focus until the frame was full of
swells arrayed around the reef like spokes on a wheel. Then they began to move.
   Swell after swell came from the top of the screen, splitting into matching
perfect waves marching in formation around both sides of the reef, their smooth
faces rolling over into huge tubes with perfect precision.
    “Hey”, said Sonny-boy Noaloa, winner of pro surfing’s world tour two years in
a row, “that mo like it, brah. You show dat one again, yeah?”
   “Hold on there, champ,” said Clark. “Wait till you see what’s next.”


                                      * * *




Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                        22
Waves of Warning                                                         Glenn Hening


    After his last conversation with L.J. Merrill, Ian Clark knew exactly what he
had to do. Merrill never divulged the locations of new surf zones until they met face
to face. This time, however, that meeting would never take place.
    Clark quickly called Trans-Pacific and told his contact that a Geosurf employee
had seen what looked like good surf on a flight from Tahiti to South America. Was
it possible that the flight recorder could provide the GPS position, and the altitude,
just before the plane had experienced some turbulence about two hours into its
flight? The airline executive was only too happy to oblige Geosurf’s owner, and
with the GPS data on its way, Ian Clark started working on his pitch to Wavelife
International.
    He had sold surf tours for years using real video, but all he had was Merrill’s
distant footage compressed into a data file, and that would not be good enough for
his purposes. So he sent the file to a CGI company that had done a lot of work for
Geosurf enhancing surf video images. He remembered discussions he’d had with
them about the state-of-the-art work the company had done for NASA using
software developed to simulate landings on Venus and Mars. He got on the phone
to the VP of the company, and an hour later, Clark was in business.
    The last frame of the image stream showed a shadow angle on the t ail
stabilizer. Combined with the GPS and altitude data, that single frame would help
the programmers to reverse engineer a series of calculations, similar to sea
captains using sextants and trig tables, to determine the sun’s precise position
when Merrill had shot the images. This would give them a exact reference angle for
the almost imperceptible shadows of the wave’s hollow tunnels. With the ability to
then extrapolate the geometry and dimensions of the forms on the sea’s surface, the
programmers and computer graphics artists could then create a three-dimensional
digital tour of the waves. The VP assured Clark that it was quite doable, and in
seventy-two hours Clark saw a rough of exactly what he needed. In the end the two -
minute tour cost almost thirty thousand dollars, but that was cheap considering the
bet Clark was placing on his future.


                                       * * *


    All eyes in the conference room were glued to the screen displaying a perfect
vision of some of the most, if not THE most, extraordinary waves they’d ever s een.
The “video” was not real, but Clark was almost certain that neither the executives
nor the surfers would ask questions about the stunning images.
   They didn’t.
    Although Mercante and Corlund were used to cutting -edge pitch meetings,
neither they, nor anyone else sitting around the table had ever seen anything like
this. The “camera” seemed to drop until it stopped just above the surface of the
water facing a wave that filled the screen. The wave started breaking. The “camera”
did not move, and the waterfall/avalanche got closer and closer until it finally
closed right over the “camera”.


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                          23
Waves of Warning                                                         Glenn Hening


   There was a stifled gasp from the lone female surfer in the room.
    Aleja Gracellen caught her body involuntarily responding to something outside
the boundaries of her skills. She was the woman who danced with the sea, but deep
inside, she knew riding such a wave would be no dance.
   The “camera” went underwater as the liquid mountain rolled overhead. Then it
came up to the surface into the sun only to have another wave fill th e frame. The
“camera” panned slowly to the right. Now they were looking directly into a hollow
tunnel big enough to swallow a school bus. The arc of the wave curved out into
space like a nautilus shell. It was a ruler -edged waterfall peeling perfectly like the
honing blade of a lathe.
    The “camera” pulled back as the power roared forward, all the time maintaining
the view into the tube. Ten meters back in the tunnel a maelstrom of certain death
was clearly visible.
   “Nice wave,” said Larson.
   “I thought you’d like it Heath. That’s why I want you to be the first to ride it.”
Clark felt confident enough to lay it on a little thick even though both he and
Cheryl Corlund knew what was really going on had nothing to do with anything
other than a lot of money.
    The “camera” floated up to a safer position. The low angle of the sun gave the
thirty foot waves an ominous look, their concave, translucent faces glowing a deep
blue before feeling the reef and breaking perfectly.
    It was nothing but a sophisticated illusion, bu t the visceral reactions of the
people around the table were anything but digital. They were like awestruck
climbers looking at Mt. Everest as the jet stream blew a plume of snow off the
summit, their hearts and minds transfixed by a hypnotic vision of glo ry and danger.
    Roberto Mercante mind-surfed the waves, lost in delusions of surfing at a
world-class level. Sonny-boy Noaloa imagined himself shredding turns and getting
big air all over the huge walls as if he was skateboarding giant half -pipes. Heath
Larson saw himself so far back inside the tunnels that he couldn’t be seen at all.
Aleja Gracellen was wondering if she’d ever be good enough to ride what she was
seeing, and both Wilson and Massara were wishing they knew how to surf just to
be able to appreciate what was on the screen.
    But to Cheryl Corlund, however, it was like watching a person screaming
behind soundproof glass. There was just too much raw energy for her to absorb,
and she didn’t bother trying. By the reactions of the surfers, she didn’t n eed to
know anything more about Clark’s find. Unnoticed by the others, she opened up a
laptop screen built into the conference table, clicked an icon, and began to study a
spreadsheet full of data. Her mind went into high gear, knowing she would have to
strike a deal with Clark to integrate his find into her plans for Wavelife’s future.
    The “camera” began to fly free and clear above the swells revealing a mirror
image set-up on the other side of the lagoon. Just as perfect and powerful as the
“rights”, the “lefts” peeled like Pipeline, with two important exceptions: instead of


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                           24
Waves of Warning                                                       Glenn Hening


stopping abruptly after one quick tube section, they kept going for almost a mile.
And they were much bigger than anything ever ridden at Pipe, second reef
included.
    The POV pulled back up to ten thousand feet. A seamless edit brought them
back to the real images shot just before the camera angle became impossible. The
screen went blank for a second. Then the Geosurf logo appeared.
   Ian Clark and Cheryl Corlund locked gazes. She knew he needed cash, like a
prospector needed a grubstake, in exchange for the promise of a bonanza based on
a mere forty-five seconds of reality and two minutes of simulation. He knew he’d
successfully made his pitch as if each frame was a grain of gold found in the sand
of a creek bed leading to surfing’s “Treasure of Sierra Madre”. There was no
misunderstanding between them. Each knew exactly what was on the table:
Wavelife needed a shot in the arm.


                                      * * *


    Waves have always been at the heart of a multi-billion dollar industry because
their wild energy makes them an endless source of wonder and respect. Dozens of
companies used man’s fascination with waves to sell apparel to everyone from
awestruck tourists to veteran surfers. For years, Wavelife International had done it
better than anyone else.
    When Roberto Mercante founded the company, he understood firsthand the
unique affect of waves on human emotions. He knew the world of surfing to be a
truly awesome place of raw energy, where waves are like wild beasts r oaming at
will across the vast curved liquid space covering much of the planet. He’d found a
lot of romance in man’s relationship with the seven seas, but he’d learned more
than once that no one can ever take their hospitality for granted as long as waves
move across their surface. Their beauty can be inspiring, but at the same time, he
knew that waves are, in a purely primal sense, an enemy.
   Wavelife’s success was based on this paradox, and another paradox as well.
Surfing is the antithesis of business, and sharp as Mercante was about how to use
waves as a marketing tool, he quickly learned he wasn’t going to be able to make
real money without the smarts of an MBA. Though it wasn’t a marriage of
convenience by any means, Mercante had found the perfect match in Cheryl
Corlund, Harvard grad, looking to make millions and finding fertile ground in the
world of her husband. It was a dream team that took the surfing world by storm.
    The early advertising campaigns emphasized the power and subliminal terror of
big waves. As the company grew and began to target non -surfers, marketing
experts were brought in who designed campaigns around the carefree joy of
children letting the gentle surf chase them up and down the sand. Then, when sales
numbers began to slack off, Wavelife went back to its “core surf” identity. One
campaign traded on the survival instincts triggered when tourists are caught
unawares by rogue waves. Mercante re-branded waves as if they were sharks


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                        25
Waves of Warning                                                       Glenn Hening


shattering the complacency of a day at the beach. “Neve r Turn Your Back on the
Ocean” took on a “Jaws”-like resonance in the media - and sales soared.
    When the fear angle began to wear thin, Wavelife went back to fun in the sun
and sales jumped again. Within a few years they’d perfected a marketing strategy
of constant motion across a broad spectrum from panic to joy, trading on the
fathomless natural power of waves that can elicit primal instincts from dread to
ecstasy.
    Wavelife mined these veins of fear and fun, refined them into sophisticated
branding campaigns, and marketed quality clothing at premium prices. It worked
like a charm, and revenue went through the roof. The company became the most
powerful in the surf industry and, almost like a diamond cartel, eventually
controlled supply and demand of surfing ’s media identity as if they were the
anointed gatekeeper of “genuine surf” to the New York apparel industry. Corlund’s
excellent management kept the profits rolling in, and when the company went
public, Wavelife International was an instant hit on Wall St reet.
    But as with every trend in the rag trade, what once was coveted eventually
became commonplace. Garmentos who didn’t know Heath Larson from Frankie
Avalon realized that they could move product simply by slapping surf lingo on their
stuff. They flooded distribution channels with cut-rate knock-offs at hard-to-beat
price points. They knew there was plenty of business to be done selling to people
who didn’t surf but wanted to be cool because nothing could be sold as “cool” as
easily as surfing. And as long as they were paying less for the same image that kept
the kids happy, parents were happy to save a buck at the expense of Wavelife’s
“core authenticity” branding campaigns.
   At the same time, management ran into problems keeping shareholders happy
by selling strictly to surf shops and better clothing stores. Executives of publicly
traded corporations always need ever-increasing volumes to keep the share price
up, and Wavelife was no different. Mercante and Corlund had to start doing
business with big box chains and off-price outlets. That drove the surf shops crazy
and incensed the buyers from the up-scale retailers.
    Within a year Wavelife’s “core surf” credibility began to erode. Wavelife had
strip-mined its way to all-time highs on Wall Street – by sinking to retail’s rock
bottom world in the cut-rate bargain bins. But that meant there was nothing special
about the brand anymore, and investor analysts and institutional shareholders
began to lose interest in Wavelife as a “hot” buy. A day of reckoning was now on
the horizon like a set of swells that would soon turn into waves of problems that
threatened to overwhelm Mercante, Corlund, and the company they’d built from
scratch.
   Ian Clark learned of Wavelife’s dilemma over a year ago while on the golf
course. Word was the stock, once a status symbol in the surf industry, had been
downgraded from “buy” to “hold”, and if analysts began to issue “sell”
recommendations, rumor had it the consequences would be quite serious. Clark
knew the rumors were based in fact because like all the clothing companies in the
surf industry, Wavelife borrowed heavily each season in order to pay cloth and


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                        26
Waves of Warning                                                       Glenn Hening


sewing contractors upon delivery so that garments can be shipped to the retailers.
The problem was Wavelife didn’t get paid until the garments “checked through”.
Until a sale was rung up, Wavelife didn’t get paid. From his days with the
magazines and late-paying advertisers, he’d learned that banks lending to apparel
industry corporations keep a close eye on sales figures, and loans covenants are
very strict. The banks always got their money first, and depending on the amount of
orders placed at trade shows versus sales projections, even Wavelife had
sometimes been unable to get working capital during times of economic uncertainty
– or marketing ineffectiveness. That time had finally come for Wavelife, and
Corlund had been forced to take a drastic step to secure working capital.
    It became common knowledge that she had to start borrowing from “factors”,
who work exclusively in the clothing business and who charge extremely high
interest rates and often are nothing if not heavy -handed. She had no choice, even
though she knew the dangers of working with factors. If they called in her loans for
any reason whatsoever, Wavelife would have to pay in full on the spot, and she’d
seen what happened to other companies when they didn’t: offices were padlocked,
liquidators showed up the next day with moving vans, and a company was out of
business in a heartbeat.
    Corlund walked the tightrope like a pro for several product cycles, but in a
strange-but-true version of how things sometimes worked for publicly traded
corporations, even though revenue was up, the value of the company was down. All
her efforts to appease Wall Street had only created a whirlp ool of diminishing
returns. By trying to compete in mass-market channels, she’d only diluted the
brand, which forced her to try to sell even more, which only cheapened the brand.
And when the stock began to sag, she knew something had to be done, and fast.
    Although Wavelife owed hundreds of millions of dollars to a consortium of
banks and factors, payments had always been made on time. But now the stock
price was making everybody nervous, including the Orange County brokers who
had made fortunes recommending Wavelife stock. Meetings with investment
analysts and creditors were growing testy, and the word on the street was not good.
The bankers were seriously considering reductions in the amount of money they
were willing to loan Wavelife, and the factors were upping their interest rates.
Unless something direct and tangible was done to keep the creditors happy, the
wolf would soon be at the door.
    When Clark asked his broker buddies what they thought Corlund was going to
do, they told him how corporations in trouble often find new waves of cash to ride
down Wall Street. Everything depended on perception, they said. Shareholder
enthusiasm had to be ignited one way or another, and the easiest way to do that
was to re-define the company with a fresh and powerful branding campaign. Clark
had that skill set wired from his days at the magazine, and in his growing
desperation for cash, he thought of how he could work up a pitch to Corlund that
would hold up under her scrutiny and net him a fat consulting fee. He knew he’d
have to come up with an ingenious and innovative publicity campaign and
unparalleled market penetration, but to do that he would need something
extraordinary and unlike anything ever seen before in the history of surfing.


Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                        27
Waves of Warning                                                        Glenn Hening


   And then one day he saw exactly what he needed.


                                       * * *


   “What’s to stop us from simply finding this place ourselves?”
    “C’mon Roberto, if it was that easy, I wouldn’t be here. The South Pacific is a
big place, and even if you found a reef that looked like it might have potential, wh o
knows how long you’d have to wait for the right combination of swell, weather and
wind. No, Roberto, you’d be better off working with me, because I know where it
is and I know when the waves will be good.”
   "What do you want out of this?" asked Cheryl Corlund.
   “The honor of your presence when I open the place up.”
   Corlund smiled. She knew this was just a smokescreen and she didn’t say what
she was thinking because she knew what was coming next.
   “Plus expenses,” added Clark, “and future considerations.”
    As in buying Geosurf when the time comes, thought Corlund. She, too, had
done her homework and knew all about Clark’s money problems and what kind of
deal he needed to make, and soon, to extract him from the financial vise that
gripped him.
    Heath Larson felt tension fill the room like a set of huge waves coming in from
the horizon. So he did the same thing he always had when, despite his true courage
and determination, he sensed he was out of his element. He relaxed and let
discretion be the better part of valor.
   “Hey Sonny-boy, we go check surf, yeah?"
   Larson was born on a ranch in Wyoming but had grown up in Hawai’i and
spoke pidgin easily, though only to Hawaiians. He knew that Noaloa liked
confrontation and would want to watch the deal go down, but he knew the hot-
headed Hawaiian could only make things more difficult for Mercante and Corlund.
    “C’mon, brah. You need recover if you want party tonight like last night,”
teased Larson.
   "Uh, yeah, okay, Heath,” said Noaloa reluctantly.
   “How about you, Aleja?” asked Larson. Although he’d had problems with
women all his life and a bad divorce to show for it, he knew when to be a perfect
gentleman, and he was nothing less to Gracellen.
   “Want to go for a run?”
   Aleja Gracellen glanced at Cheryl, who nodded.
   “Yeah, but I don’t know if I can keep up with you guys.”




Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                          28
Waves of Warning                                                          Glenn Hening


    The three surfers got up from the table and walked past Clark without shaking
hands. He did no more than nod to them. There was no point in being social with
the surfers when he was about to face off with Mercante, Corlund and her two
lieutenants.
   The doors closed behind the three surfers and silence filled the room. Clark
knew he was in good position and felt even better when Cheryl Corlund spoke first.
    “June, I think you and I can talk later this afternoon. Bill, I’ll come over to your
office as soon as we’re finished here.”
   The stock market expert and the chief financial officer stood up from the table.
Clark thought to make some points, so he stood up, too.
   “Nice to meet you both,” he said.
    They nodded to Clark, and walked right past him. Suddenly Ian Clark didn’t
feel so confident.
   The door closed, and Clark sat back down. He didn’t know what to say, and it
showed. Corlund sensed his nervousness and played off it.
   “Roberto, please give the disk back to our friend here.”
    Mercante ejected the disk and nonchalantly skimmed it down the table like a
Frisbee.
    The disk stopped well out of Clark’s reach. Mercante’s carelessness was not
accidental. The future of surfing’s biggest corporation was on the line. It was time
to play hardball.




Chapter 4 – Surf for Sale                                                            29

				
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