The Latest

Over here at HeadHighGlassy we like to keep things light—a quick shot of handcrafted boardporn, and perhaps a few musings on our shared experience as surfers in the 21st century. However, for the last seven or eight weeks, I’ve been sick. Comically at times, but mostly not. Mostly sick in the way that saw my wife and I using vocabulary normally heard in bad medical dramas. Sick in the way that that last week’s lab technician grimaced when she saw the constellation of blood-test punctures dotting my arms. Sick in the way that, over time, the radiologist running the cat-scanner and I learned each other’s work schedules, favorite books, children’s soccer achievements.
As I regain health, I’d love to pen a flip account of my last two months—ending with But Boards Must Go On!—were it not for the fact that I can recall, exactly, how terrifying it all was.
But it’s true, Boards Must Go On. The moon pushes and pulls, tides rise and fall. Pulses of energy gather into waves, hurl themselves at distant shores, reconstitute in different forms. For the briefest of interplanetary eye-blinks, some of us get to tap into that energy, and surfboards are a simple, ingenious way to do this. So while I’m humbled by many things lately—my wife and her infinite stores of patience and love, my mom’s homemade chicken pot pie, caregivers, viruses—I’m also thrilled to be harnessed by something larger than the self. To be a part of a community of weird, inspiring people who call or email or stop by to demand, in no uncertain terms, that their surfboard needs be met. Fortunately, they’re also patient, and this afternoon as I popped in the iBuds and stepped into the shaping bay for the first time in a month, I paused to feel this transference of energy. This live-wire scream of the planer, these grains of foam dust whirling through spider cracks of light, this unshakable throb of possibility. Health waxes, illness wanes. Boards are shaped. Handed over. Ridden. We are immersed, enslaved by joules and the law of conservation. Sometimes this doesn't work to our favor. Sometimes it does. And sometimes it just feels pretty fucking good.
Onto the boardporn!
Esteban's new double-wing quad stealth fish.
The stealth designation is given to any board that immediately goes into a board bag, is sneaked past any economically co-dependent members of the household, and is incorporated (with crossed fingers) into the existing quiver without mention or fanfare.
Although it's doubtful this one will escape notice, a man's gotta try.
As per usual, Leslie Anderson at Fatty Fiberglass makes the stuff pretty. All color, except the resin pinlines, done during the lamination. Badass.
I hope you are all well.

Ate-Oh

8' Broadsword.
Caramel resin tint and chocolate resin pinline by Leslie Anderson.
2+1 fin setup.
Rounded pintail.
This board sports a logo that's been unemployed for about a decade. For some reason, Fatty had one hanging around her shop and thought it was a match. If you see someone on a board with this brand, you might want to distance yourself. My early clients were, um, spirited. And by that I mean unattractive, drunk, and prone to slothfulness.
They also tended to favor the stinkbug, which should be noted was a personal choice rather than a comment on the design or craftsmanship.

The Evil Eye

Hola amigos, I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but the waters are not always head high and glassy over here at headhighglassy. I've spent much time recently in bed, and not in the good way. The days unravel like a ball of tired, dizzy yarn, punctuated by the occasional visit to the doc, who's getting closer to putting his finger on what exactly ails me, though I wouldn't recommend anyone put their finger on it, as it probably looks like this:
But boards must be dreamed of, then shaped, then glassed, then delivered. It is the wool that spins into yarn, the grain that feeds the sheep, the water that feeds the grain. It is the child who pulls on your pantleg and turns their sweet round face up to yours, the dog that circles at your feet, drops, and licks your ankle just once. I believe I have a fever. Onto the board porn!
This is Janna's new 8-something broadsword ordered for her somethingtieth birthday.
It has lots of fin options and an Evil Eye on the deck, so don't snake this nice lady if you see her shredding the waves of Northern California or Central Mexico.
Could be the fever, but did I mention Leslie reproduced this design IN RESIN?
Janna comes from a long line of waterpeople--Portuguese fishermen, to be exact--and this Evil Eye has protected them from drop-ins, kooks, and angry gods for generations. I'm going to stare it a little longer with the hope my virus will get exercised and head back into the deep and the dark from whence it came. Perhaps it will leave a little chicken soup and turn the heat up a bit on its way out...

The Little Pill

While not a new design, the Little Pill has undergone some refinements during the last few seasons. The outline has become sleeker, the foil more tuned in for better waves, and the entry rocker increased.
It's not a groveler, and will go well with south swells--lowtide reefbreak, beachbreak, or anywhere where speed and control are in high demand.
This one's a five finner with a light and snappy set of bamboo side fins by Marlin Bacon at 101Fin Co., but they work well as quads for a little extra oh my! sensation.
My preference du jour? 2+1 . Why? No idea, just feels good.
Know what feels bad? Holding a surfboard like this in a stiff breeze.
Insane resin work, as per usual, by Leslie Anderson at Fatty Fiberglass.
This Little Pill stands 6'5 1/4 x 21, and is up for grabs. Shoot me an email if you're interested. It should be taken several times a day with lots of water.

Blue Monday: the shequel

Local she-redder Caroline's new stick.
Insane resinwork from the talented hands of Ms. Leslie Anderson: artist, animal rescuer, and occasional wearer of respiration mask.
Five Finboxed War Pony. Cedar stringer. Rocker. Pulled, foiled, gloss-and-polished.
My three-year-old daughter's purple princess shoes. Leslie's tapered laps. Caroline's stoked pickup. Lots of good lady energy swirling around this stick.

Swirly Tuesdays

As committed, sober HHG fans will note, the Tuesday before St. Patrick's Day is always Swirly Tuesday, where I showcase a stirring representative of Leslie's resinwork. In addition, I fling wide open the doors of HHGs SPAM filter, and invite all to take a peek. Enjoy.
Today's featured swirl is Spencer's 7'2" bat-tail egg.
And our first featured SPAM comes from someone whose linguistic authority appears somewhat deficient, though clearly their Romantic spirit is fully intact. Here's the first line:
Best ladies looking reciprocation in the utility of men USA. True-hearted sex.
This notion is followed by some true gems, but perhaps it can best be summed up by the following line:
I tenderness to acouter in peculiar clothes and come undertake online as a cam maiden when I'm not being a granny.
Onto the swirl!
Clear deck, cedar stringer, five boxes for maximum shred capacity.
My next favorite SPAM comes from someone with a greater command of the language, and wins award for Highest Word Count. It's also surf-specific, sent to us by someone in the employ of Point Break Bar on West 45th Street in the Big Apple. It starts:
I am a surfer and found a "real surfer bar" in Point Break NYC.
Strange, yet compelling. Later in the paragraph the author claims,
I'm kinda jealous ;OPIt's {sic} filled with surfers, people who like surfers, people who like the beach and people who don't want to live close to town.
Losing me.
And when I spill a full tray of shots onto myself, the bartender so kindly remakes them for me?
It is signed Davis Miller.
A cursory search of the Googles reveals that the Point Break Bar has chosen to forego a website in preference to an uber-classy Twitter account rife with Lady Ga-Ga references, free beer specials, and, most damning, exclamation points.
If you have a moment, you might choose to send a message to @PointBreakNYC asking them why they're douches.
Back to the swirl!
Finally, I'll close the HHG SPAM filter with this lean missive sent by an anonymous SPAMer just this morning:
Hello. And Bye.
I'm a sucker for brief, muscular prose. And, right now, dry reislings.

Marching Orders

The official HHG hand model getting the job done with a 7'3 Campbell Brosesque five fin egg.
If surfboard design were a wine-tasting party, the Bonzer would be the guy who smuggles in a sixer of cold Tecates in cans.
It's a judicious choice for those who like the ball-bearing pivoty feel of a center fin combined with the efficiency of four small rail fins.
Less drag, positive drive out of turns, stick to the wall like flypaper.
Don't let the fuller planshape fool you, this round tailed egg sports a finely-tuned foil and rocker for the steep and the deep up here NOTB. Think of long paddles, bull kelp heads the size of disco balls, and dark shapes on the horizon marching, marching, marching. The dark shapes zap an instant message directly to your frontal lobe: flee.
But you don't flee the dark shapes.
You sit. You breathe. You wait for the dark shapes to march closer.
Then you turn, then you paddle, then you connect to the dark shapes. With the dark shapes. In the dark shapes.
Then you know, and you want more. More dark shapes. Dark shapes marching from Oregon, marching from Washington, marching from Alaska. They march and you wait. You breathe.
You are.