Of Sparkplugs, Sandbars, and Seasons Greetings

I love it when this:
Turns into this:
6' Sparkplug for bicoastal surf enthusiast/surfboard sketch artist Kevin, who's flying out from the East Coast, grabbing his new stick, celebrating X-Mas with the in-laws, then jetting to Mexico all in about a 12 hour period.
Five Futures finboxes of fun. The Sparkplug is packed full of curves and designed for maximum rippage in small to a-lot-larger-than-small sized surf. It works well as a three or four finner. Up north, e. shreds his gen 1 Sparkplug with a bonzer-inspired setup.
Speaking of the East Coast, Mrs. HHG, the little HHGitas and I just arrived here and you know what? It's freaking freezing and I've gotten no fewer than 10 emails in the last 12 hours informing me that my homebreak is totally snapping and everyone is getting so pitted and it's the best, cleanest surf of the winter and the agricultural runoff from the rain isn't that bad as long as you've had your hepatitis shots...etc.
Still, as I write this, stuffed into more fleece than in an entire REI catalog, parked in front of a space heater, sucking down hot tea as if it's the elixir of life itself and contemplating how soft I've gotten, I can still muster enough holiday spirit to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. And coming from a semi-frozen Jew, you know it's real.

Orange Egg

Does anyone remember the van with the external speakers in Robert Altman's (brilliant) Nashville? For some reason it was a highlight for me, as was seeing Elliott Gould in full 70s, gold-necklaced, hairy-chested glory. The van, a rolling audio advertisement for Hal Philip Walker's political ambitions, asks the question, "does Christmas smell like oranges to you?"
Well, for local wave-enthusiast Lucas, international shredder and dashing man about town, Christmas came a bit early this year, and it's definitely orange.
7' something egg, glassed with the lovely lady-hands of Leslie Anderson at Fatty Fiberglass. Lots of finboxes for lots of fin options.
Tight.

New Yeller

A typical conversation with Unde starts with some stoked screaming. “Yeeeuuuuuwwww, Murray!” he’ll belt into the phone, Rhode Island accent unmistakable through the slurry of vowels. Sometimes the exchange won’t progress any futher. There’ll be a click and a dead line and you’re left wondering if Unde got shacked bodysurfing Ruggles, or if Unde scored a new pair of Birdwell trunks, or maybe he just pulled some hapless, waterlogged tourist out of Narragansett Bay. Sometimes there’ll be follow up—Unde will be on a new aquatic trip and will want to share. Taco Bell tray sliding. Prone surfing in a flowered Esther Williams swim cap. A new Van Duyne rowing surf boat to play with once the lifesaving season is over.
True Unde Story #1. I knew Unde for two years before I discovered he had a real name: Jimi.
True Unde Story #2. When Unde lived, taught, and shredded in Japan, his students called him Pantsu which, I believe, means Undies in Japanese.
True Unde Story #3. Unde loves the ocean more than anyone I’ve ever met. East Coast. West Coast. Whatever.
This latest of Unde’s aquatic schralp machines measures in at 7’2 x thick x wide. Leslie lay down a beautiful classic yellow tint with matching deck patch inlay. Dark brown resin pinline to match the cedar stringer. This five fin-boxed egg is designed for anything Unde cares to paddle into. Which is just about everything.
Unde: more stoked than my one-year-old about a grasshopper. Pretty much sums it up.