New Blood...

5'9" Steve Lis Quad Fish. Just wet for the first time.

Seventy-five degrees. Yes, the water and air both.

Hop on the bike and put the board on the rack. Forget the leash, it's a beachy. Wax in the pocket and slaps on the feet. Pedal and glide down Stratford, sliding under a low-hanging branch in anticipation of a head-dip, a cover-up, a micro-tube.

A manicured doormat of grass that sits in front of the sand, framed by city landmark and children's playground on either side. Take the bike onto the sand, tuck it into an eroded sea-cave and grab the board.

A few recognizable faces greet me on the sand, in the surf. A few familiar feelings return to me after a rather lengthy land-locked period. That first duck-dive. Ooh, that first moment of slippery speed. Welcome.

The new digs, a haunt in coastal affluence, has an ocean view and a few trails to the reefs. A bike takes me to the beachbreaks, not too bad on their day. It is refreshing to sense the sea so nearby again. Each morning for the past many I have sen the coastal airshow; fog  and a delta of pelicans soaring just over the bluff.

Art Show in the Morrow...

So, in lieu of frisky first-graders, delightful and dangerous all, I will be grabbing hold the creative rope and swinging wildly about my school's cognitive canyons. I am going to be working as an arts teacher helping link content-area instruction with the arts. Jack of all trades, me. Master of one, joy.


With the arts in mind I present to you a show to be attended, considered, celebrated, and perhaps hooted for. Enjoy Wavelength La Jolla at the La Jolla Library Gallery- a fine venue. Beautiful works and beautiful people are a guarantee.

Oh, and there will be a selection of Bird's Boards.

Share and share alike...

September, 2009, via JKP

I, the beneficiary of the generosity and encouragement of many friends and acquaintances, sometimes feel compelled to give and share simply for giving's sake. (Not always, so don't get greedy.)

Above are photos of a man at work in a manner that essentially every one of his contemporaries has forsaken. Though heady names exist on the labels of boards and clothing, the only label that bears the weight of decades of continuous work building and riding surfboards is the wings. No ghosts, no machines, no bull.

His trip has been on my mind and at my fingertips lately. Appreciation is warranted.
Thanks.

Better Late...

Honored and really quite stoked to write a hefty little feature about Steve Pendo for SLIDE. He and his design work are totally unique and inspiring.

I'm not sure if it is still on the magazine racks but I'm sure copies are available directly from the magazine itself.

Seeking Shade...

My favorite barrel-rider of all time. 6'6" Lis quad. A true revelation to me.

Average surfers like myself make memories out of mere moments.

The trail down from Triton Town is ever beautiful and baffling. Sea thieves conspire and scheme to take every single wave that they possibly can by any means that there has ever been in any conditions that there might be. And not to smile about it. Seriously. Why even surf if you're not going to smile?

Amongst the battling beasts I place myself. A kitten with the tigers, a pigeon trying to fly in falcon country.

Then Triton stirs. Salty karma can be sweet. A head and a bit peak rears and then jacks up double. I spin and gulp. I surf small waves, not barrels anymore, my real life has dictated as much. But there it is. A true barrel. Blue/black and robust. I slip to my feet and crouch back on above the fins. Click, click, zip! Fins, rail and rocker align and seek exit. I spread my arms and tickle the curtain as I exit.

There is nothing, nothing like being scared and then barreled. Back for more.

Sometimes things come right...

Half-past noon on a pleasant afternoon. The phone buzzes. "Ugh. Don't they know the baby is napping?" I, leaving my back garden, stomp into the house and grab the phone, hoping to gift my babe just a few minutes more rest.

"Hi Andy, It's me, Skip. You're board is done. Just need to finalize glassing." "Clear. Clear will be great."

It turns out that my phenomenal wife has ten years of anniversary love to share in the form of a gift, a 10' gift- Fish Simmons to slide my way.

It's funny, even though this last year was the busiest of my life it still felt whole, weighty, substantial, satisfying. Thanks to Amy, to Skip, to the Giver of Life and may 2012 roll forward with a groundswell of beauty, peace, and understanding.

Not sure if you noticed but...

Lis, Civil Rights.

Lis. Cell-phones do not take good pictures of bagged beauties.

Cher Pendarvis, surf-matriarch of San Diego Proper, researched, penned, and produced a fantastic piece about my favorite shaper of all time, Steve Lis, for my favorite publication, TSJ. She participated in the very organic and experimental timeframe when Mr. Lis and his cohort were at the heights of their collective and individual creativity. Please read it and fancy the phrasing and photographs. Imagine a moment or two along those sandy shores, next to those sublime reefs, during those dynamic years.

Thanks Cher!

Mind and Motion...

"To Dare is to Do"

Stevie Lis called me to ask about the glass job on a new board order, just shaped, to be sent to Diamond for a glass up. "Just surprise me. I like classic, but surprise me." Last time I ended up with a tapered stringer and double pinlines coupled with a nice eyes-of-my-wife blue bottom. Thanks. Yes the board surfs well too.

My last board, 5'7 and keeled for comfort was glassed clear, to match my black wetsuit. It gets tubed at the right reef down yonder- when I'm not blowing late drops and swimming, swimming, swimming.

My tenth anniversary with my wife is approaching. She wants to get me something special. A board perhaps? Nope. What I need is time to do something with the boards I have.

To have is to hold onto the moment and protect it from the creeping change. To have is to worry, to consider, to secure. No, I don't need more. I need to do more.

Brad Barrett (I think) filled some pages in TSJ with recovered moments from decades past. Painted pages with characters, moments, music. Inspiration to do and to do and to do. Then there were pages with tropical purgatory with dichotomous perfection and peril. Inspiration to do and warning to only do it well. Then there is my son, charging to kick and run and catch and play. Inspiration to do and to do my best.

Through these prismatic lenses I recognize that I am most richly blessed with my days of doing. My time is not always my own, but it is invariably bulging with the bounty of a purposeful life. Yes, I want to surf more and travel more and let the outdoors light sit on my still body. But while I am purposed to do, I will do well.

Last dip...

What is Pendoflex? from Cher Pendarvis on Vimeo.


Thanksgiving morning. After a week off of work I've yet to surf. My beloved is laid low with sickness now lessening. We are headed to the beach to celebrate Thanksgiving with a few neighbors. Soccer for the kids, smalltalk for the adults. But what for me?

Of course I throw a wetsuit in the car (short-sleeve-full is the Swiss Army knife of neoprene). Of course I mention a "If I can slide out for an hour it would be great, but I didn't even bring a board so we'll see." My understanding better half grins. She knows. She gets it.

Pull up to The Drive-Through and spot clean shoulder high lines, good winds. Even better, I spot Rshred with Dlightful and their little wahine. Boards are stacked high on their car.

After settling and mingling and nervous glances towards the waves I slide over to glean a borrowed board. "Sure, what do you want to take out?" "What've you got?" Selection is good. I take out a 6' three-finned swallow tail Pendoflex. I love the tripped out flex profile of Pendo's boards. They're unique and hard to categorize. Time to surf.

In one hour I get many fun little fancy ones. Mostly rights, I feel out the three fins and start to use the vertical alignment knob. Smack, smack, whack. First thruster in a while feels fresh and easy. Thanks Rshred!

Returning the board I spot The owner of PB surf shop. He spots me and lets me know that the board is a shop demo. RAD. Double dip for me!

Due to some health issues, this was the last time that I surfed. I'm just about ready to go again and cannot, cannot wait.

Tools of the trad(ition)...

Me: Professional Flotsamist

Suburban soul...

Epik Aker making a mark.

Age eats at us. We gain responsibilities and graft decisions onto decisions, layering our lives with unfortunate complexities. Where to live?

I spent many years with an ocean view from a house on Mission Blvd. I was so very lucky. My parents, neither surfers, Didn't know that they were my addiction's enablers. I feasted. Years passed. Degrees earned. Jobs taken. Wife married. Kids born. Reality is that the coastal chaos doesn't suit me well. I need waves, but I need a bit of space. I work with an ocean view. I live with a view of a canyon and my two young kids at play. It's a good life, this surfing life, and no matter how easterly I drift, the current always pulls me back to the shore.

Print is (not) dead...

A piece of writing that orbits close to my heart has found its way to your local newsstand. Pick up a copy of the most recent The Surfers Path. Read my scribbles. Have a cathartic moment or two.


How amazing is that b/w portrait shot by Cher?

Chemistry Set...

Ding repair:
Teach yourself to do it.

Teach your son to do it.

He can be better than you.

Detritus...

The Post-millennial Grommets breathe new life. Pic: BA-->

Awake. Produce. Repeat.

Each day finds an odd haze hanging over it. The weight of expectation, exertion, evaluation becomes a rote path. One moment is left behind as the next is anticipated. So rarely is a moment let to ring until its simple song is spent. Episodes pile up like driftwood, memories of living things worn smooth and innocuous by powers greater-than. Flotsam reaches the shore. Sea-scraps accumulate.

Then someone walking along the beach picks up the discarded and forgotten bits. Fashioned by an inspired mind, the memories and moments take on new life and meaning. The visionary act of reinvention and re-invigoration breathes new life.

Scale for personal use. Apply as necessary. Work, play, family, expression, success, all need a bit of re-invigoration when the time i'swell.

Feeling the kneed...

1977, Huffman, Rex. The Banzai Pipeline. Oahu, Hawai'i. Photo: Jeff Divine.

Flat, short, wide, keeled and kneeled.

In the middle of a satisfying session it happens. You've been enjoying some speed runs, turns, and stylish this'n'thats. You're feeling good about your surfing. You're in rhythm, you've got a flow. You even start to feel a couple of sets of eyes watching you. All is right with in the salty sea.

Then it happens. The peak down the beach gets bombed by a beaut. Overhead and hollow. Only that mysto-kneelo is down there, where only he tends to lurk. He's too deep. He'll pass it up. He'll never make the late drop. Oh, well, maybe he's going to try it. Oh, wow, he made the drop. Oh, damn. He's deepish. Oh, yeah. He's going to make it. Perhaps he's on to something.

Knees if you please.

Half-stance for a chance.

Cripple-style for a while.

Half-man is the plan.

Turns high-g for li'l ol' me.

Find each little barrel a true kneelo-style feral.

I'll pass on the fins, though. I like to standup on those kneesleds too.

Inspecting inspiration...

Hynd, Litmus, 5'8" Frye keel fish, Visual interpretation from Litmus screenshot via Jack Brull at Saltstainedeyes.

The Litmus Fish really liked the spear takeoff, no paddle takeoff, fast paddle takeoff...it was all about controlled speed entries. That 5'8" liked the wave the bigger it got. I learnt another side of surfing on that old friend ala glide etc. That's not to say there hadn't been other revelations on other boards. Particularly - the key of Campbell Brothers rail fins in accelerating layback snaps at JBay in the late 80's...not unlike the feeling of Al Merrick's 6'4" bump tail of around 1987. Put the right board in the right wave and any surfer feels touches of magic.

-Derek Hynd, 2/2010

Two nice sessions on a 5'8" Frye Fish brought me a lot of pleasure this weekend. I looked back over some recent correspondence and came across the above quote. I think Derek hit the nail on the head- a traditional fish will teach you about "glide". The single-minded purity of a true keel is so enjoyable. The original recipe: short, flat, wide, double foiled big-base keels. I think I'll take the '76 5'6 Lis Keel out for a bit of crucial keeling.

Mr. Hynd, thanks for your inspiration.

Valyou...

Lis fish, Select Surf Shop, Roots!

I received these images and a request for a determination of value. I responded by asking what was meant by "value". I could see myself valuing this beauty through a high line or two. Smirk. Grin.

Lines Converge...

A personally inspiring interview I held with Manuel C. Caro has just reached the interwebs. Please enjoy it on Drift Surfing Magazine.

The Pendulum Swings...

LCrow, putting some resin on a surfboard by CChristenson for MHealy. Pic via MMiller.
 

Remember Edgar Allen Poe? The Pit and the...?
A meticulous metaphor crafted to incite horror. And it did. And it does.

I was chatting at the beach with Sin Diego fixture and single fin maestro LCrow. "It's been a good winter, eh?" "Yep, but I've just been dragging a bit. You know, just have to get motivated to get out there." I shrug and skip to the sand's edge, grinning a Cheshire's large. LCrow becomes a spectator. Days pass, as they do, and I see LCrow at The Drive Through for an early morning dip. Meager lines bob and warble along the sandbar. I eye my boards, beauties each, and kind of mumble to myself about cold and stiff and stinky wetsuit and time's a-tickin'. LCrow looks over at me, "Let's get out there." In minutes we are in the lineup. The cold seeps through my stinky wetsuit as time clicks along. But I am smiling. Not mumbling, smiling. The pendulum swings.

Each day a pass of the pendulum, razor sharp, comes closer. Each day we swing like the pendulum. We breathe life into the tiniest moments, then fritter away the grandest. We enfold our thoughts in minutia, then are able to draw intelligent visions upon the future. We dictate and then contradict. We are in constant danger of the pendulum's death blow. We are the pendulum.

The surfing life gives a weight to the pendulum's swing. We have a central gravity that draws us center. Regardless of the wild gyrations surrounding our unsalty-selves we always come to a rest at center. Thank God for the center.

I/We...

Solitude sent me searching at my out of the way spots. High tide and decent swell mixed with a rambling shuffle of the feet. Two days, many waves, tired, satiated but not satisfied. The only surfer I surfed with was an invitee. Crowds are a manifestation of expectations too high or explorations too limited.

Above, Larmo etches petroglyphic echoes. Since the inception he'e nalu has been filtered by a collective and singular duality of thought. I am me on a wave at this moment. I am a member of us who are on waves at many moments. Sometimes I need to get lost in the former in order to put the latter in perspective.

Suggested reading as an alternative to surf media described in video above : Footsteps as Flotsam; Granuped, Janus