The Kiwanis Jam Skateboarding Competition on Film

“The key to immortality is first living a life worth remembering.” — Tony Hawk

In 1988, when I was in grade 3, my father bought me a copy of Thrasher Magazine. It became my childhood bible. I studied that gospel until the pages fell out and all I was left with was the ads in the back. By grade 4, I’d graduated from a magazine to a real skateboard — an Eddie Reategui board by Alva with gorgeous rainbow-coloured grip tape. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm didn’t match my abilities. The highlights of my skateboarding career include ollieing onto a small curb and a stationary kickflip on soft grass.

If I had any foresight, I would have ditched the board, picked up a camera, and photographed my friends, some of whom were amazing skateboarders. But it would be another 20 years before I started tinkering with film cameras and by that time my mates had all traded nosegrinds for desk jobs, midlife crises, and divorces. But this past summer I was given a second chance. One day while doomscrolling Instagram I was fed an ad about a local London, Ontario, skateboard competition, called the Kiwanis Jam. I marked down the date and then confirmed with my wife that I had the green light to be cool for a day.

When August 16, 2025, rolled around, I donned my dopest sneakers, grungiest shorts, and most sun-bleached T-shirt and headed to the Kiwanis Skatepark. With its the recent induction into the Olympics, skateboarding has transitioned from an artform and counterculture lifestyle to a serious sport in which competitors train like Olympic athletes. Thankfully, the people I encountered at the skate park belonged to the former era of skateboarding, the one I remember from my youth. The only sixpacks in sight were on ice, the only performance enhancing supplements were THC and nicotine, and the only protective equipment was torn denim and a thick layer of tattoo ink. Don’t get me wrong, these guys (there were no women competitors) were brilliant athletes, they just didn’t imbue that healthy-living, gym vibe that you get from some of those Olympic skaters.

When I first arrived, I was nervous and intimidated; it felt like I was sauntering up uninvited to the cool kids in the high school smoking section. But everyone was welcoming, and before long I was moving around the park with conviction capturing the skaters in flight. For cameras, I brought my Leica M6 with a 50mm Summilux and a Rolleiflex 2.8F Planar. I shot both black and white and colour film. I quickly realized it’s not easy shooting fast moving tricks on manual-focus film cameras. And one must be mindful not to get a board in the face or to impede the line of attack. I now have a newfound appreciation for the photographs I so admired in those old Thrasher magazines.

As I photographed the skaters that afternoon, I realized that we were a lot alike. Of the hundreds of complex tricks attempted at the competition, only a handful were successfully landed. To be a skateboarder is to fail again and again. Photography is also a pursuit of constant failure: so many shots fall flat and so few land. But admittedly a bad photo is a lot easier on the knees than a poorly executed backside boardslide. Shown here are my best attempts at skate photography. If you find the photos hard on the eyes, keep in mind that my board skills are a lot worse.

Many thanks to the London Skateboard Co-operative and HZRD Skateboarding who helped organize the Kiwanis Jam. If you’d like to see more of my photos, you can find me on Instagram and at Leica Fotografie International.

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