Second Shift

Fifteen years of a photographer Kevin Voegtlin’s selects, respectfully “poached” while pulling doubles.
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The sun shines, a light wind rustles the rainforest’s canopy, and Windex-blue waves peeling across a Mentawai reef pass are being torn apart by surfing’s zeitgeist. It’s 2009, and Nike money is floating this boat trip aboard the luxurious MV Pelagic. The paradisiacal conditions cause veteran surf photographer Jason Kenworthy to turn to his assistant, Kevin Voegtlin, and kindly but sternly say, “Remember, you’re here to shoot video, not photographs.” 

Kenworthy knows Voegtlin’s heart lies in snapping stills, not motion. He also knows how the tropical setting, combined with the unfolding shredding, could be overwhelmingly tempting, a lure that might cause Voegtlin to abandon post. Voegtlin is running second unit to filmmaker Aaron Lieber, so missing a clip wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Still, Voegtlin acutely films each wave, taking photos only in his mind. 

Dane Gudauskas, Angola, 2013. While enjoying post-Lowers-surf burritos and Modelos, Dane casually asked me if I wanted to go to Africa with him and Kepa Acero. With no real responsibilities back then, I said yes. A few months later, we were deep in Angola, sleeping on the beach and surfing entirely alone. The footage from that trip became my first actual film, Under Desert Sun.
Unidentified, Log Cabins, 2018. While working for Electric as the content manager, I was on the North Shore for a purely lifestyle campaign shoot—no surf-action imagery needed. I didn’t even bring a lens longer than a 24-70 millimeter. On this morning, we drank coffee at the WSL house at Logs while waiting for the talent to show up. The waves were pumping, breaking close to shore, and grinding down the beach. I couldn’t take it anymore. I put down my half-drunk cup, told the Electric crew to text me when it was time to start shooting, walked to the sand, and shot photos with a lens I would never use for surf action. The challenge forced me to hunt different angles.

The wind kicks up slightly, some of the surfers return to the boat, and Kenworthy decides he wants some waves. He puts down his camera, grabs a board, and, before jumping off the stern, gives his assistant the green light to shoot photos. It’s the moment Voegtlin’s been waiting for. He picks up Kenworthy’s camera and fires away. 

Prior to the trip, Voegtlin was fresh off a photo internship at Surfer magazine. Before that, he was a total photo nerd, spending his Laguna Hills High School lunches in the lab’s darkroom. He grew up hustling rides to Salt Creek from his older brother by agreeing to shoot him and his friends surfing. There, he studied Larry “Flame” Moore from afar, along with Flame’s stable of Surfing magazine shooters, who were creating spread-worthy imagery. He also witnessed surf photography’s politics, mœurs, and taboos—like poaching photos. 

When he heard that Kenworthy was looking for a new assistant, he hounded him with calls and voicemails daily—not knowing that he was in Indonesia, without reception. “He probably had two weeks’ worth of messages from me,” Voegtlin says. “I probably sounded like a psychopath.” He’s still convinced Kenworthy gave him the gig just so he’d stop calling. 

After he’d worked for free for two years, Voegtlin’s talent, work ethic, and permanently chill mien were undeniable. That’s when Kenworthy invited him on the Indonesia trip to film, a paying job. Accepting the offer was a no-brainer. So was the work.

Portrait courtesy of Kevin Voegtlin.

“I was just pressing a button and handing off the footage,” Voegtlin says about filming. “I had no say in the end result. It had little creative element, which does nothing for me.” 

But Voegtlin was good at it. His footage was used in Nike’s watershed film directed by Kenworthy and edited by Lieber, Leave a Message, featuring women’s surfing progressives Carissa Moore, Lakey Peterson, Laura Enever, Coco Ho, Monyca Eleogram (née Byrne-Wickey), and Malia Manuel. It established him as a bona fide surf videographer. 

More gigs followed, and he traveled constantly. Knowing that swerving out of his lane to shoot photos on these trips could transgress surf photography’s unwritten bylaws, Voegtlin found ways to diplomatically subvert the “you’re here to film only” edict. 

​​“I was just pressing a button and handing off the footage. I had no say in the end result. It had little creative element, which does nothing for me.”

He knew simply asking, “You guys mind if I shoot photos for a bit?” would cause awkward pauses and wary side-eyes, and send the nerve of this fucking filmer screaming through the photographers’ internal monologues. Instead, when he felt the compulsion to shoot, he’d calmly pull out a vintage Yashica-D medium-format camera, a tool incapable of capturing tight surf action and thus a disarming foil to the photographers’ telephoto lenses fixed to DSLR bodies. Handcuffed to a video camera, Voegtlin was after the in-between moments anyway. 

“You wanna go get a couple waves? I’ll shoot for you” was another tactic that would bypass Yosemite Sam–level rage evoked by trying to get stills. The photographers almost always took him up on the offer and passed him the camera. He’d occasionally see photos he took published in magazines, but with the photographer’s credit. That didn’t matter. It was validating that he had the eye. 

Unidentified, Lance’s Right, 2012. While on many Mentawai boat trips for Nike, I had to maximize my time to shoot stills before I was obligated to film. I’d wake up early to triple-check my cameras, batteries, cards, lenses, and tripod. Then I’d quadruple-check Kenworthy’s kit—I was also his assistant in addition to filming. With my assisting responsibilities done and my filming job yet to start, I’d have a little time to snap a few frames. As the boat positioned in the channel, I was perched on the bow, hoping to capture someone sliding into a barrel before I had to head to the beach.

These shots are pulled from Voegtlin’s “poached” file—unpublished images created while on video, commercial, or other assignments. In a twist of fate (or engineering of his own design), Voegtlin is now a full-time photographer and rarely films. He’s on retainer for several outdoor brands that range from fitness to travel to fishing, assists in the photo department for The Surfer’s Journal, shoots a few weddings per year, and is flush with freelance gigs. When he’s not behind the lens, he’s proudly pedaling a non-electrified bicycle to Lowers, where he carves set waves in the predawn light—no poaching necessary.

Britt Merrick, Carpinteria, 2020. After losing my job at Electric due to COVID layoffs, I finally went all in on working for myself. I built up a client base and started shooting full time. When Devon Howard asked if I wanted to shoot at the Channel Islands Surfboards factory, I couldn’t say yes fast enough.
Kyuss King, San Clemente, 2018. Kyuss was in town picking up this ’69 Cadillac Coupe de Ville to ship back to Australia for his 16th birthday. I’d find any excuse to use Electric’s photo studio, so I asked him to cruise by.
Noah Beschen, North Shore, 2018. Electric told me specifically that I was not hired as a photographer. But after a few years of filling in on shoots, I became the brand’s primary shooter. The waves were firing this day, but Noah was sidelined by a ruptured eardrum.
Ozzie Wright, San Clemente, 2018. Ozzie had the idea to skate and spray-paint simultaneously. I set up a seamless backdrop and let him rip. He broke nearly every light in the studio, got paint on every wall, and had an absolute blast while doing it.
El Guitarrista, Tacos Manuel, Rosarito, 2014. Not only was my dad’s old Yashica-D camera disarming to the designated photographers I’d travel with, but it also kept my subjects’ guard down. Watching a photographer stare down into a viewfinder is way less intimidating than having a lens stuck in your face.
Kepa Acero, Angola, 2013. Kepa is a great travel partner, but don’t rely on him to plan the trip’s food. You’ll eat only white rice and tomato paste for three days straight.
Dane Gudauskas, Angola, 2013. Dane and I met Kepa outside of customs in Luanda, Angola’s capital. We planned to take a domestic flight south to meet up with photographer Alan van Gysen, who was waiting with our car. Our boards weren’t allowed on the plane, even after several negotiation attempts with a local translator lobbying for us. As plan B, we opted to take an early morning bus to get to Alan. We spent that night in a hot, malaria-ridden city. The following morning, the bus we were supposed to board had broken down. Four hours later, the backup bus arrived. It drove at a snail’s pace and stopped in every town along the way. We could see rolling swell lines out the window from bends in the road high up in the hills. We finally reached Alan 13 hours later—then still had a three-hour drive to the coast. Yeah, we missed the swell’s peak.
Cam Richards, location redacted, 2016. My brother, our good friend Eric Mehlberg, and I were looking to pull the trigger on a strike mission. At the time, Eric, Vissla’s marketing director, could go only if he took a couple of team riders—that way, he’d technically be “working.” I negotiated my way out of paying my share of fuel and food costs by offering to shoot a little on the trip. Turned out to be a great deal, especially since by golden hour my arms were cooked from surfing.
Kai Barger, Mentawais, 2011. Kenworthy and Nike team manager Frankie D’Andrea brought a board bag full of fishes, bonzers, and single-fins. The team of shredders hadn’t spent much time on alt craft, but Kai made the transition seamlessly.
Jack Robinson, Mentawais, 2011. Even at age 14, Jack’s barrel-riding technique was excellent.
Carissa Moore, Mentawais, 2010. Riss was a constant standout on these trips, as seen in her closing section of Leave a Message. She put the world on notice for her dominant competitive career to come.
Julian Wilson, Lower Trestles, 2011. Filming the Nike team around the world gave me free rein to shoot stills of them when they rolled into town. I seized every moment to create images with the best surfers in the world on my home turf.
Nat Young, Macaronis, 2010. Nat only wants to surf. He’s always in the water, regardless of whether someone is shooting him. That benefited me because I’d pick off photos of him while I was being dinghied to shore to begin a long day of filming.

[Feature image: Dusty Payne, Macaronis, 2010. I had been filming from the skiff all afternoon while Jason Kenworthy shot stills. The waves weren’t great, but they were fun enough to make our time behind lenses worth it. After most of the surfers went in for food and cold Bintangs, Kenworthy jumped out for a surf. Dusty and Nat Young were the only team riders still surfing. We were all milking the last minutes of light.]

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