image/imagination...

As found on Free Radicals

In a season of few sessions my imagination runs with the images. 

My hair is common brown, no longer tell-tale blond tipped. My neck has no rash, nor defined wetsuit tan-line. I lean over. My nose is dry.

Settled into the corner of my couch, kids asleep, dog tucked by my hip, I flip through a magazine or enter an e-door. Just as always an image stops me and I dream. Often it is a wave unridden or a framed capture of those moments that we remember through our surf-sense-memory. Yes, we who surf have a sixth sense. Sometimes, as above, it is a traceline of a story, now old enough to be decoded. 

This image is particular to a certain telling of a certain history, and mine happens to intersect it often. What beautiful chance to be able to claim the feelings offered by these boards. What fortune to be so located in history to surf crafts from the eras and into the future.

Thanks to Ryan Field for providing stirring images in conspiracy with RK. 

Must Read...

Mabile Glider- The Mark of a Trim Addict

I remember flipping the e-pages of Surfermag.com, looking through the design forum and the classifieds for bits and pieces to be grabbed or bought, and then coming to a post or classified from a poster pseudonym-ed as Festus Porkmeyet. His somewhat gleeful cheek was obvious and joyfully embracing of surfing as a life of richness. His wry humor effaced surf-culture with a wink and a smirk.

Now Festus emerges as a person, a human, whose story and struggle is profound but who also embodies a kind of triumphant dedication to the present that sometimes grows from a life in the waves. I've moved out of his neighborhood, my old neighborhood, with a few fair feelings of regret, I might add, despite the wash of reward in the move. I never met him in that neighborhood. I wish I had.

Please read about him here and celebrate.

Mix...

Travers Adler, One Session At Rincon. from Morgan Maassen on Vimeo.

Along the certain path of adulthood, as it's sold, there are certain obligations that carry both joy (different than happiness) and challenge.

From my cliff-side morning walk with my sweet dog Jake I get to see the swell and about a mile of coast. This is daily. This is surfline for real and without the ugly. I see swell and tide and wind and reef and crowd and rips. What I have seen recently has been just great, really nourishing. Good swell and great conditions for nearly two weeks.

Yet I, the responsible and restless, have surfed only a handful of times. My wife is freshly back to full-time work, bless her, as a teacher. Hours are long. That leaves me and the gremmies to our own wonderous afternoons.  We imagine and play, explore and snack, hike and splash. But I don't surf.

Tomorrow is Saturday. I will be surfing. I hope to enjoy an expressive, joyful slip'n'slide out front. Beachbreak with bad access equals no crowds! In my imagination I am the kind of surfer that Mr. Adler, above, represents. All trim and pocket play with a dash of thrash (though I am slightly less self-aware I think.)

See you at the beach. I will be the one with the smile.

What would you do if you had two months off...

Compassing Teaser from Cyrus Sutton on Vimeo.


The initial premise of what appears to be another grounded, earthy, accessible film from surfing's new-media frontman is compelling. What if we could all take a walkabout for a month or two? What if we could devote preparation time and money towards a surf trip that would meet our Santosha dreams? What if a freedom were granted and we grasped it with both hands, pulling ourselves out of the drudgery of daily life?

But the question emerges from an assumption to the negative. Yes, workaday life can be laborious. Yes, the constant wrestling with scheduling, parenting, husbanding, producing, consuming and pragmatic necessity makes it difficult to feel that salty-sweet aura of the unencumbered surf session. We grab our moments, though, do we not?

I propose a different perspective, one in which surfing plays the complimentary role in life rather than the true north of all experience. Can I be a competent and devoted family man, friend, teacher, and surfer? Yes. In those times when surfing becomes secondary I have learned to use my inner knowledge that the next session will always await as a motivator. Do good work in all things and enjoy those moments outside of surfing as a way of balancing life.

Of course I have wished for the weeks long journey to point break perfection. Yes, I miss traveling to Baja with the regularity and freedom that I once claimed. But times come for those trips. They need not be always the sweet that makes everything else sour. Perspective and balance my friends.

If you were wondering, if I had two months off with no responsibilities tying me here or there, I would probably go surf San Jacinto on a great swell and then trip around Europe. Never been there. I'd surf when I returned home.

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.

Cloud Surfin'...

So, my Kindergartener and I have some business to 'tend to. We have exactly forty-three minutes before we are to meet at Hula Pie Heaven for a family dinner celebrating Gramps' sixty-first. "Do you want to go surf?" "Sure Dad, but the waves look kinda big." They were. A nice January Juice was running with solid quadruple-overhead sets for a five-year-old. "I know where we can go and not have to worry about the paddleout..."

Race one coastal stoplight to the next. SUV's with bleached and bronzed yoga-moms at every glance. Plumeria stickers, surf racks, and dollar signs are not as compelling as one might think. You can keep North County.

But then we are there. Wetsuit change to the beat of the jitterbug. Chilly wind deadens against neoprene. Fins in hand, mat under my arm, boy's paw in the other. "Let's have an adventure." He says. He is on my back. I am laying on a pillow of air on the cold sea. We kick out with just over twenty minutes before we must leave. Smiles in the lineup. "What, you've never seen a matsurfer with a five-year-old on their back?"

Three quick waves down the line and a scramble back up topside. Quick change and heater on full-blast. "You ready for some of that Hula Pie, Kid?" "Yes."

Some adventure.

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.

Ink stains...

Here's to the pen. Words regarding Bird Huffman in Revolt magazine's May issue. Thanks to Aaron Goulding for the invitation to scribble.

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!

Title here...

G, Three years old. This is what it is about.

A conspiracy raises against me. My immune system pulls levers and alarms sound. Hoses expel founts of steam. Small men in white bio-contamination suits roam my cells. Sickness strikes. And always at the most inopportune times.

In all of April, four surfs. I just can't seem to find the rhythm to stretch the rubber and wax the water wings. Two beautiful kids, plus twenty three more at work takes a bit of energy, leaving me with weekends- yes, I'm that guy now. But, of course, I cannot resist and must coach GG's football(soccer), basketball, and tee ball teams. I love it. It's all great. But, fish gawta swim.

Three days ago the child of a world-famous longboarder told me his dad was picking him up to take him surfing. "I might even get to go out to the big waves all by myself." The swell was a macking 9 inches. "I think we might go to (The Drive Thru). I like it there. I can play Bobba Fett in the sand."

Thank you, kid. Deep breaths and simple smiles. Simplify those dangerous must-do days with a view of sand, silver sea, and horizon line. Thank you, Kid's Dad, for not being too self-important to grab the time and soak a surf with your son.

Water's warming up. My family will see you at the beach. We'll be the ones wearing the smiles.

As an aside, if you ever have the chance of ordering a clear, 5'7, classic templated fish with big fiberglass keels from Steve Lis you should go for it. It is a really fun ride.

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.

A trail well-worn...

A trail at the start usually leads to good surf memories. For instance, I walked down to Triton's Doorstep a month ago and got my wetsuit blown halfway down my torso by a Canyon Set. Ah, memories.

A week off of work, but always other work to do. Still, a short stay just a stroke away from The Trestle had me mat-packing. Wetsuit, fins and a mat are incredibly functional travel companions.

Monday through Thursday would be Theme Park Purgatory- much pleasure some passive pain. But oh the grins on my kids' faces. Sliding was prescribed.

Monday was probably negative twenty degrees centigrade on the beach at Uppers. I changed into my wetsuit bare-arsed as the shorebirds, more demure than I, looked on. Puff-puff and I'm immersed. I knew I'd only have an hour of warmth in my pocket so waves were my prey. Not a soul to share with. Double overhead (on the mat) and zipping along the cobbles. Beautiful, thrilling, novel, sensational.

This was my theme park ride. These were my roller coasters. This, my happiest place on earth.

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.

This will never be cool...

But will always be fun!

I had fun at the Mat meet this last weekend. We had good surf and a large crew of pool toy enthusiasts in attendance. I am reminded by watching others and looking at myself in the picture above that mat surfing does not look good. It sure feels good!

Oh, by the way, last winter, on one of the bigger days at Swampi's, Kassia Meador, who is a rather beguiling water nymph, hooted at me while I was slotted, not quite barrelled, on my surfmat, making me feel a little tingly all over, and supporting my delusion that mat surfing may someday make me very popular and attractive, despite my obvious shortcomings.