Southbound

I’m no science teacher, but I’ll take a stab at hydrodynamics to explain in layman’s terms how the Twinzer fin system--originally envisioned, applied and tweaked by Wil Jobson from the 1980s to the present day--works:
wordswordswordsVane+
sciencysciencysciencyAngle of Incidence+
physicsphysicsphysicsLaminar Flow=
fast, loose fun.

There you have it.

 This equation will be thoroughly tested in Baja for the next few weeks.

 Correspondence will resume in July. Hopefully in a more relaxed, crustier, and surfed-out fashion.

Of Broadswords, Pinot Noir, and Uni

Mike’s about as capable a waterman as you can get. Surf? Kills it.
Fish? Slays ‘em.
Sea kayaking? Yup.
Abalone diving? Si.
Urchin plucking? Enough already.

Lately he’s been ripping up the East Side on his 8’something Broadsword:

Pinot Noir bottom wrap by the boys at Almar Surf Works

Like Mike’s time in the water, his sword is all about options: 2+1, single, thruster. Whatever.

The go to lately, though, has been the quad.

Options provided by the good folks at Lokbox and Rainbow

In addition to the secrets of the salty deep, Mike inadvertently tipped me off to a secret parking stash somewhere in Santa Cruz. You see, he looks like a man who has a system. Who knows things.

So I followed him.

Sure enough: parking stash.

Thanks, amigo. And if you see a certain minivan paralleled in your usual spot, I swear it’s not mine.

Beefy cedar stringer. Strong like bull.
Still, you don’t want to wax the windshield. That would piss me the owner off.

You Are Here

You are in Mexico, and the water is warm.

Your eyebrows are crusty and you've surfed a lot today.

The waves are small and clean and a deep-afternoon gold.

Should you paddle out for a few more?

There is beer on the beach, but yes, you should paddle out for a few more.

You grab your 7’6” egg, not bothering to leash or wax. You stroke out to the lineup. The waves are small, clean, and a deep-afternoon gold. The water is warm and your eyebrows are crusty and you are in Mexico.

You spin and catch one. Early. You glide and swoop. You lean back. You step forward. You throw your arms over your head because you’re in Mexico and the water is warm and you’ve surfed a lot today.

There is beer on the beach, but you should paddle out for a few more. You stroke back out to the lineup on your 7’6 egg. You spin and catch and glide and swoop. You throw your arms over your head. You should paddle out for a few more. You are in Mexico, the water is warm, there is beer on the beach and the waves are small and clean and soon it will be dark.

All Clear

Foam
Cedar
Fiberglass

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.

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.

The Green Machine

Back in college, the dorm affectionately referred to as KW (Keyes-Wasserman) was comprised of single occupancy rooms only. In college, single occupancy rooms exist for two reasons:
1. Occupant is seeking a tranquil venue for contemplation and study.
2. Occupant is seeking a tranquil venue for getting it on.
Both make sense to me.
So much so that when identically-initialed SF shred enthusiast KW expressed interest in a board, I waved all aspects of my formal vetting process (hazily-framed inquiries regarding beer and pornography preferences) and got to it.
The product, a double-wing quad fish, speaks to Kevin's interest in a more sustainable surfboard (100% recycled EPS foam, epoxy resin, bamboo fins) and my Atlantic Coast nostalgia. Either way, this floating venue will provide a platform for both contemplation and getting it on, surf-wise.
On a side note of appreciation, I'd like to point out that there are very few glassers out there highly skilled in EPS/epoxy applications. There are fewer still (in fact, I can't think of any offhand) who are masterful enough to tint--that's right, not opaque, but tint--over EPS foam. There are perhaps a handful of people in the world who would tint a shaped EPS blank, sand it, double pinline it with resin, create a custom matching resin logo, then gloss and polish it.
Did I mention Leslie also gardens, breeds reptiles, and plays a mean guitar?
101 bambo quads keep boards snappy and happy.

The Egg Man Cometh Back

Food is the ultimate indicator of seasonal change. Forget the sizeable NW swell showing on the buoys, the cool inland temperatures, or rain over the weekend, the true proof that summer has faded into memory lies in a forensic comparison between friday night's meal (tri-tip, grilled on the deck while wearing flip-flops) and saturday night's meal (jambalaya, slow-cooked in the crock pot while wearing socks for the first time since April).
The first, a celebration of warmth. The second, an attempt to regain it through cajun sausage.
Speaking of food, local shorter-board shred enthusiast Paul is on the fast track to a free sandwich*. His new 7'0 egg is designed to get the job done when the 6'4 is approaching maxed-out status.
Red cedar is good for stringers, fiberglass Rainbow foils are good for fins, and glassjobs by Leslie are good for shaped foam blanks.
If the pics look dark, that's because it was--summer's over, people.
*The HHGSC (HeadHighGlassySandwichClub) offers a free sandwich** from Traverso's, a Santa Rosa tradition for four generations, for customers who reach a certain number of board orders. In order to stave off a run on new orders, I won't give the exact number, though it's between five and seven.
**Sandwich includes one (non-alcoholic) drink, but no chips, as chips are ridiculous.
Speaking of Santa Rosa traditions, come on out to Toad 'N The Hole Pub this Thursday for Surf Movie Night. This week features live music from Chris Lods and the Friends, an insanely good surf movie, and a trivia contest with a wetsuit giveaway. Nuts!
Festivities begin at 7:30, but I recommend showing up a bit early to soak up some of the atmosphere/plant it at a table for maximum enjoyment.
All ages welcome, so bring the kids.
If you don't have kids, bring a friend who knows a lot of surf trivia. We're talking free wetsuit, here.

The Egg Man Cometh

All of my potential clients are subject to a grueling set of questions of the highest personal nature. They may, but are not certain to, include the following:
Name
Weight
Height
Why, according to Chinese Zen master Sozan, is the head of a dead cat the most valuable thing in the world?
What are your favorite twin cities, and why?
Which member of the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee—current or past—do you most resemble?
Local aquatic shred enthusiast and fellow educator Paul nailed the early queries, citing Victor/Driggs Idaho as his preferred twin cities, as “the airport hot dogs are better than in Pocatello.”
His last question, however, gave me pause. Paul named California’s 30th district Representative Henry Waxman as his House Oversight Committee likeness.
To be honest, I don’t see it, believing Paul to carry a closer resemblance to Massachusetts’ 6th District Representative John Tierney.
You, sir, are no Henry Waxman

Regardless, Paul’s board was shaped—a snappy 6’4 egg with a 4+1 fin setup and foil, rocker, and bottom contour to excel in the steeper stuff. Red cedar stringer adds some flex and a bit of class.
Plastic from Lokbox, Fiberglass from Rainbow and True Ames, and rubber by Crocs--throw in a long period south swell and a country-cured ham and you've got yourself a little heaven on earth.

Local Legend

In 1918 a six year old boy went missing in a dense fog along the Mendocino coast. Young Johan de Lotharsen’s disappearance made national news, as he was the first-born son of an original Mendocino settlement family with significant holdings in the area. His inheritance would have been substantial.
The Lotharsen's before Johan's (seated) disappearance.

Ten years later, a dapper young man in a grey suit and mink-brown bowler hat appeared in town, claiming the missing boy’s identity as his own. He carried a rifle. Police, family, and lawyers were informed. The young man was scrutinized, then proclaimed a de Lotharsen—heir to the family’s considerable wealth.
Because young Johan never publicly spoke of his ten-year disappearance, stories began to circulate: Johan was kidnapped by pirates; Johan ran away with the circus; Johan was raised by elephant seals.
None of these reports accounted for the suit, the hat, or the rifle.
The de Lotharsen’s had always been a reclusive bunch, and circled the wagons even tighter after Johan’s reinstatement. They retreated to a mountain property where they purportedly built homes from mud and moss, buried large sums of money from their Mendocino dried-goods business in the roots of giant trees, and practiced animism.

And Johan de Lotharsen surfed. His slight figure could be seen riding atop a self-hewn redwood alaia, parallel stance like the ancient Hawaiians, along the coves and points of the Mendocino coast. He would often disappear into the fog, not to be seen again for months.

Throughout the last century the stories persisted: Johan de Lotharsen, clad in the gray suit and brown bowler, toting an impossibly-heavy shotgun would chase down a train, board it, then terrorize passengers with a rucksack stuffed with salted cod.
Johan de Lotharsen would stay up into the wee hours in his treehouse abode writing patents by candlelight: a a centrifugal birthing apparatus for uncomfortable mothers, a sewn kelp vest for attracting sea lice (they eat terrestrial lice), a treatment for asthma made from seal fat and bituminous coal dust.
And still he surfed. Bigger waves now, more remote locations, colder, deeper water.
The last thirty years has seen the passage of his family, yet Johan de Lotharsen sightings are consistent in mentioning his agelessness. Clad always in the gray suit, the bowler hat, sporting the shotgun, he emerges for a board by a local shaper, then returns to his mountain retreat and his lonely, foggy reefs. Often, he carries a stout cat.
Sometimes local surfers look around nervously and ask, “Have you ever gotten an order from…you know…?” I admit that I haven’t, though if the phone rings late at night, or if there’s a phantom knock at the door, my mind goes to the dandily-dressed hermit from the Mendocino hills.
Then, last month, there was a knock at the door.
The smell of dried cod filled the entranceway as I took in the image: the gray suit, the brown bowler hat. Tucked under the crook of one arm was the ancient shotgun, under the other, a large cat.
“Need a board,” he said, then pressed a wad of cash into my hand—eighteen wrinkled dollar bills and a five. He looked thirty-four, tops.
“Where are you going to surf it?” I asked.
“None of your goddam business!” he shrieked, face reddening. “Do you know who I am? I’ve discovered more pointbreaks in a weekend on the Sonoma Coast than Naughton and Peterson did in a lifetime of globetrotting! I’ve Pioneered more coldwater slabs than Brad Gerlach could possibly imagine—even if he was coaching a combined team of Irishmen, Western Aussies, and the bastard love-child of John Long and Jeff Clark!”
He went on like this for some time, then got to specifics. I have to say, Johan de Lotharson knew his shit:
6’0”rounded pintail egg, red cedar stringer for flex, ice-blue tint with logo-encrusted cigar band and tapered rails, Lokbox rail finboxes, center box for 2+1 rippage.
What could I do? I shaped the board, dropped it at Fatty’s, spent the $23 on a fresh case of pullup diapers for my second-to-littlest lady.
He had Leslie deliver the completed board to an undisclosed location NOTB. She managed to snap these two shots before he disappeared into the woods, grinning, the rifle and cat tucked under his arms, the smell of salted cod trailing behind him like the cars of a ghost train disappearing into the fog.

Bad Metaphor Monday (now with more board p0rn!)

Recent claims in HeadHighGlassy that now seem foolish in retrospect:
1. The heat. I recently called out the red-wine-only drinking elite by singing the praises of Chardonnay, an overpurchased and overciticised varietal if there ever was one. Sort of like the Jessica Simpson of beverages. Now that it's raining and 48 degrees inside my house, that seems kind of dumb.
2. Establishing a link between swine flu outbreaks and democratic presidents. This one wasn't me, but it's dumb enough to have made its debut on these very (electronic) pages.
Recent claims in HeadHighGlassy I solemnly stand by:
1. A little board porn always takes the edge off a Monday, even if it's posted after midnight EST.
2. Spring brings out the resin tints like colored boards are ants and spring is a honey-covered dipstick.
Exhibit A: a 7'10 egg for Dexter enthusiast, father, and stoked surfer Danny who sent this picture to enchanting glasser Leslie Anderson. A likeness was requested.
An interpretation, in full resin, gloss, and polish was delivered.
Lokbox rail fin boxes+long center box= more possibilities than a lazor hair-removal technician in a room full of my relatives.
Pointbreak foil.
Pointbreak-friendly orange deck.
Pointbreak-destroying 101 FinCo bamboo quads.
Everything in the above picture was made by hand in California. Even the gravel driveway originated less than a stone's throw (sorry) from my house. I shit you not.

Blue Tuesday

Thank you Headhighglassy fans who emailed reminders that I missed Blue Monday. I took (both of) your requests to heart before unceremoniously deleting them and then getting back to the project at hand: drinking as much arctic-cold chardonnay as possible.
I know what you're thinking: arctic-cold chardonnay is not du rigeur among Sonoma County's white wine cognoscenti right now. I should instead opt for a pinot gris or, if feeling saucy, a chenin blanc.
But I'm a maverick, and I drink what the conditions call for. Yesterday in Northern California was hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut; therefore, chardonnay.
Onto Blue Tuesday!
This blue 8'4 all 'rounder is currently available at Petaluma's Sonoma Coast Surf Shop.

Full board Hastings blue tint with red resin pinlines and a matching resin comp band courtesy of the fetching Leslie Anderson at Fatty Fiberglass.
Shiny.
2+1 fin setup, Lokbox finboxes, and spiral vee bottom. Cruise it on the small days as a single, rip it as a tri fin when it's got some push--the choice is yours.
Blue Tuesday is also support your local shaper, glasser, and surfshop Tuesday!

The Writes of Spring

Ah, Spring!
What's there to say about this season that hasn't already been expressed by creative types going back a few thousand years?
The wealth of spring poems out there--the odes, the sonnets, the frantic pleas to virgins--tend to be of a similar ilk. You've got your daisies pied and violets blue (Shakespeare), your calls to Sound the Flute! (Blake), and your frenetic fears of missing out on the whole thing, as evidenced by a histrionic D.H. Lawrence, who writes: I tremble so much to hear it, that even now, on the threshold of spring, I fear I shall die!
I like Rimbaud, a volatile self-examiner who wrote an ode to spring called A Season in Hell. In it, he claims that spring imbued him with, "the frightening laugh of the idiot."
Sound familiar, surfers?
Up here NOTB, spring brings strong(er) northwest winds, cold(er) water temps, and shitti(er) waves. Desperate locals threaten to move, quit altogether or, worse, take up kiteboarding. Claritin flows like wine, wine flows like water, and water gives us the frightening laugh of the idiot.
Ah, Spring!
As I've speculated before here, surfers are subconciously prone to order boards to match the season. During a particularly wet week this part February, I got TWO orders for gray boards, one from a local, and one from a guy in the PNW--neither strangers to inclement weather.
Spring orders usually feature bursts of color. None more so than this 8ft., 2+1 BroadSword for Santa Cruz lovely lass Kaelyn, who designed the spring-y artwork for the bottom with her special guy friend, Will.
See, the artwork resembles a seed pod.
Ah, Spring!
The talented Leslie Anderson taped-off the design on the foam, then 'stained' it with pigmented resin. The result, aside from being bitchin', looks not unlike the work of children's book genius Eric Carle, of The Very Hungry Caterpillar fame.
Closeup of board.
Cover of The Mixed-Up Chameleon, which my two-year-old daughter calls, The Messy Lion.
Ah, Spring!

Preparation Stoke

True: you can tell a lot about a person by watching them surf.
Possibly Truer: you can tell more about them by how they get ready to surf.

--Trust me, the presence of this 7'10 egg will eventually make sense--

A local at my local drives to the break wearing his wetsuit, board strapped to the bare roof with a single piece of rope. He springs out of his car, pulls off the board in one motion, smiles at us suckers with exposed skin in 30 knot wind and sub-45 temps, then jogs down to the water.

My buddy Reynaud has three jugs of water, all of differing temperatures that he pours over himself sequentially, starting with the coolest, as he suits up. His cigarette stays lit as he does this.

The Guy With The Blue-ish Dog has his gear packed in individual crates. Each of his three wetsuits are as soft, pliable, and fresh-smelling as the day he bought them. He has a Semper Fi tattoo on his arm.

My lovely wife begins her preparations in full modesty, then, after a prolonged struggle with neoprene, ditches ditches towel entirely. Casual passersby are enthused.

Some guys never paddle out, opting instead to drink coffee and wear oversized flannel. Some spew to The Boys on their cell phones. Some sit quietly in their cars, watching the ocean. Some lack wax, some have extra. Sometimes there's a dude all suited up, tending to a fire on the beach.

There isn't as much variance with post-surf rituals. For the lifers, there's usually a little friendly banter, a remark or two about the conditions, then the drive home.

It's the getting ready that's interesting. The preparation. The window into someone's soul as they contemplate the cold, or the power, or the wind, or the sun, or the bliss.

The board order process is a similar window. Last week there was a cryptic, gravely voicemail:"Name's Don. Need a replacement step up for M___ _h__. Nineteen inches wide. No f@#$&ng color!" This message terrified my two year old daughter.

Sometimes the entire order is taken care of in the water. "Make me one of those," someone will say in a parking lot or during a paddle out, pointing to my ride. "I'll call when I'm ready to pick it up."

Sometimes, like with Santa Cruz D and the above 7'10" Quad-Plus-One egg, the process is entirely electronic (we exchanged 34 emails before a planer ever touched foam), though no less indicative of character. Through the course of our preparations for his new ride, we discovered in common: babies, birthdays, occupations, and a love of blood oranges. Speaking of which, this one's getting some color work, so stay tuned for the post-Fatty pics...

Blue Monday

Blue Monday is when I display the blue board of the week, and open the HeadHighGlassy email account in attempt to answer your queries.
Today's board features the resin work of Leslie Anderson and her striking Hastings pigment coloration.

And today's first query comes from Primo, who writes:
Dear HeadHighGlassy,
I like looking at pictures of other peoples' surfboards on the Internet. My girlfriend doesn't approve, claiming that we have plenty of surfboards to look at right here in our apartment. How do I tell her that my looking at other surfboards doesn't at all detract from the ones available at home?
Your e-friend,
Primo

Hi Primo,
Healthy relationships are built on communication. Clearly, your relationship is not healthy, so I suggest waiting until your girlfriend is in the shower until you pursue your hobby. This might mean getting up early if she's a first-shifter. If that's a problem, you might want to get a new job where you are at home with a speedy wifi connection while she is at work, thinking sweet thoughts about you and your trustworthiness.
HHG
ps--Never forsake the 'clear history' feature on your browser.

Blue resin pinlines (top and bottom!), and a blue-tinted deck patch under the rear foot, as if a Blue Man had pressed his ass directly onto the tail of the board after an award-winning Las Vegas performance.
Next letter!
Dear HeadHighGlassy,
My name is Dave, but the guys in the parking lot want to attach an 'O.' What do you think of DaveO?

Aloha Dave,
Adult men should not append their name with an 'O.' This doesn't apply to Steve or John (but does apply to Jon), or Magnet. You should exercise particular caution if your name is Poley, Orie, Tont or the first questioner.

Leslie's patented HourGlass laps on the bottom of the board cap the Lokbox finboxes. Much strength, and enhanced fishy shape.
Last query!
Howdy HHG,
My wife recently balked when I suggested bringing a jambalaya to a Purim gathering. What's your take on this?
Sincerely,
Meshuggina in Morro Bay

Dear Meshug,
This is a particularly tricky one. Were it Simchat Torah or even Pesach I would say mazel-tov, but Purim is tough...oh what the hell, Haman would have hated it, so I say live a little and enjoy your Jambalaya!
HHG
ps--there are Jews in Morro Bay?