It’s amazing that Cheyne Horan’s name keeps popping up on “all-time great” lists, 30 years after the peak of his pro career.
After all, in his 16 long years on the pro tour, he won 12 events, but
never won a world title—missing it four times as runner-up. Horan’s
grip on surfing’s collective psyche comes from his life-long commitment
to surfing. He’s a soul man, eccentric, rebel, and innovator.
Horan had his own unique approach. He continued to ride his Geoff
McCoy-shaped “Lazor Zap” single-fin boards with their “no-nose” front
and wide tail, even when almost the entire pro tour switched to tri-fin
Thrusters. Horan’s response to that was to work with legendary
Australian racing yacht designer Ben Lexcen to come up with his
wing-keel single-fin. Sometimes, it was hard to know if judges even
appreciated what he was doing on the waves with his powerful,
low-crouch style, his near-vert blasts, his tail-drifts and his
high-speed, long-distance floaters. Such skate-influenced creative
moves are taken for granted today, but in the early-’80s they were
radical.
Horan’s lifestyle was equally contrary. He became a seeker in the
spiritual world, took up listening to motivational tapes, and then
embraced various aspects of Eastern mysticism—the I Ching, astrology,
yoga, macrobiotic food—and mind-altering substances, including pot,
which he adopted with all the religious fervor of a Rastafarian.
Wherever the contest circuit took him, he could often be found at the
crack of dawn seeking nirvana growing in dew-soaked cow patties.
He became a political gadfly, promoting organics, solar energy, and
the “back to the land” movement—for a while even living in and
supporting a rural commune. He marched in solidarity with Hawaiian
Sovereignty in Honolulu. He campaigned (with artwork on his surfboard)
to “Free Mandela” while surfing pro contests in South Africa. And he
took heat from sponsors, his peers, and the media for his stands.
Over the years, Horan never stopped: He developed into a skilled and
daring big-wave surfer at places such as Sunset Beach and Waimea Bay,
and he was a regular invitee to the Eddie Aikau Memorial. When tow-in
surfing began at Jaws, Shipsterns, Dungeons, and other such sea
monsters, Horan was one of the first in the lineup—still pushing the
limits physically and psychologically. That is who he is and what he’s
always been: an uncompromising individual and a true surfer’s surfer.
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