Of Broadswords, Treehouses, Rum, and Poor Photography

Before.

After.

7'10 Broadsword for Brian, a local acolyte of shred, treehouses, and mindblowing single-malt rum.

Super rich coke-bottle green tint by the new guy at Almar. Fins courtesy of Rainbow Fin Co. Cedar stringer produced by the earth.

As a note of personal defense, even JP at Surfy Surfy, the guy who takes more pictures of surfboards than any other human being who has ever lived, admits it's hard to take pictures of surfboards.

From the notebooks: Spring

From the notebooks.
Shaping in Spring:
The deeper into spring, the weirder the boards: long, wide, fat boards that catch everything. Short, wide, fat boards that catch almost everything. Medium, wide, fat boards that fit perfectly between short-period windswell troughs. Many ways to skin the grumpy, uncooperative, foggy cat of spring.
Take that, Spring!

8'4" Spring Shred Stick

Parenting in Spring:
My kids now think I'm effing with them at bedtime. "How could it be?" They plead, pointing out the window. "It's still light outside!" And they're correct, but it's also 8pm and bedtime and daddy needs a Manhattan, so off they go. Take that, Spring!

2+1. All fiberglass fins, because I care

Holidays in Spring. As a Jew, I had no idea Easter (or as I'm calling it now, Spring Christmas) was really a thing. Well, it's a thing. A giant rabbit sneaks into your house at night, eats carrots, then leaves eggs. In the morning, your kids demand candy and fake tattoos and stomprockets and a jumpy house. What? Whatever, spring!

Red is the fastest and shreddiest of all surfboard tints--perfect for Spring.

Allergies in Spring. My head feels like it's filled with soft cheese and I'm itchier than an Indonesian dog. Plus, there's no sympathy. "Allergies?" people ask. "Me too! My eyes are super itchy today!" and I'm like, "whatever, ass, have you ever been hospitalized because of this shit? I have!"
Bite me, Spring!

Spring's not all bad, though. You don't have to wear socks as much, and it's a step closer to fall, so there's that.
The above Broadsword is for SF LadyShredder Sarah, who already took a California coastal roadtrip with it, dinged it, scored some insane waves on it, received many compliments about it, and saw an elephant seal. Take that, Spring!

A Very HHG Jewishy Christmas in New England

Shaped, Glassed, Wrapped in Northern California.

Unwrapped, Jumped On in New England.

Intracontinentally stoked.

This year's  Headhighglassy Kind-of-Jewish Christmas in New England Tour saw much family, much stoke, a few alarmingly underheated homes, rain, snow, high winds, freezing temps, freezing rain, freezing snow, and enough fine bourbon to fill every bathtub in the fine state of Kentucky. The highlight was my eleven-year-old niece's first custom shred stick, ready to rip NC waves with the unfiltered stoke of an eighty-pound ten-year-old girl.
Of course, back home the local beachbreak has been pumping. The weather, according to the local paper, has been 'epic' both at the beach and inland. The sandbars, previously as unruly as a cowlick, have smoothed into shape.
Still, it's nice to be swathed in down and wool, drinking steaming mugs of hot tea while the gray light outside fades and my girls gorge themselves on My Little Ponies, which Santalah Clausenberg knew would keep four and six-year-old girls occupied for hours without interruption--long enough for the grownups to pull another tiny dog onto our laps and sample some more fine bourbon.
I took a brief hiatus from shaping in late 2013 to work on some other stuff, including my website, which can be found right here.  I still don't know how to feel about it, but it was time and makes things a bit more simple, and what could be better than simple?
Other highlights include talking to tiny dogs in New York accents, storing perishables in cars (!) when there's no more room in the fridge, complete Rainbow Loom takeover, debating the current existence of Megaladon with a fourth grader, catching my seventy-year-old parents grabbing each others' asses in the kitchen, and watching kids fall over in snow. Doesn't get much better than that.
Anyway, here's some more pics of an 8'0 Broadsword in some snow.

 Happy New Year!

On the Road Again

The Baja leg of the annual HeadHighGlassy Family Summer Tour Palooza went off without a glitch. Waves were shredded with impunity, borders were crossed tactically, Tecates were consumed with abandon.
Perhaps more important than time spent with family and friends, or the thrill of intracontinental travel, or widening my childrens' worldviews to include cultures other than our own, is the true spirit of surf trips: subjecting new designs to a rigorous eight-step sciency feedback process.
As any considerate, rational, detail-oriented, kinda nitpicky, borderline pain-in-the-ass, OCD, self-absorbed, narcissistic shaper will testify, there is absolutely no replacing personal feedback in the water. Shapers should be their best team riders (team models, no. Have you seen my calves lately? Christ).

2013 HHG Family Baja Quiver

This year's quiver featured a wide swath of waveriding vehicles, including a couple perennial favorites and a new model (!) in two different lengths and fin setups for maximum geeking potential.

Bottoms up

The results?
Mrs. HHG is firmly attached to her 8' Broadsword, as per usual. She's also very pretty and nice.

The 5'6 MiniSimmons was my go-to board last year, and it was hard as hell to stay off it this year, but I had work to do: 6'3 and 7'0 Clovers (two middle boards in above pictures).
The Clover is a souped-up egg/hull mashup and features a hull entry to a kicked tail rocker with a hard edge and concaves through the fins. I rode the 6'3 as both a quad and a thruster in waist high to well overhead surf and was stoked out of my mind with both fin setups. I rarely say, 'stoked out of my mind,' just so you know.
The 7'0 was crazy fun as a 2+1 with a flexie center fin and really lit up in juicier surf. It's not a longboard alternative, and shreds with aplomb.
My arms were noodled out one afternoon, and the surf was still clean and pumping, so I put my hull fin in it and rode it as a single and it was as good as it gets.

Fins

I'll post the sleds up later when we're back from the (hot. Humid. Claustrophobic) East Coast leg of our Summer Tour.
Onward!

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 Midlengths, pigments, and atmosphere

Words I’m not really that stoked about right now: Zillow. Drought. Romney. Mayonnaise. Lana del Rey.

Words I can really get behind: Dungeness. Pliny the Younger. Leonard Cohen. Caol Ila. WNW Swell. Blue.

I’ve been pondering this last one while looking at the pics of Adam’s new 8ft Broadsword. It’s a lovely color. Tony Mikus—master of pigments and one of the best laminators on the planet—calls it medium blue. I like that, too. Simple.

We’ve seen a lot of blue up here this winter. Mostly in the sky, but in the water, too. Etymologically, the word blue is loaned to us by the French: belle, for beautiful, and eau, meaning water.

The Thai word for blue translates literally to sky.

And there we have it. Air and water.

And if you’re a California surf enthusiast, like Adam, it makes perfect sense: blue for the immersion, the submergence, the surfacing. Blue for the melding of sky and sea and experience, and the endless cycles of light and ocean and paddling back out for another.

Then, maybe cracking, a PBR in the parking lot—it doesn’t get the blue ribbon for nothing.

Qlear Quadsword

Thursdays are the best. First, my employer provides lunch on the condition I sit through an hour-long meeting without any lewd or unseemly outbursts. Done!
Second, it’s not Wednesday, which is the worst.
Finally, I take a moment for myself on Thursdays to post a recent board and fling wide the doors to the HHG inbox to see what’s on the minds of my comrades in the surf-bathing community. Here’s Paul's Quadsword 8'7 and a letter:

Dear HHG, When did you know you were getting old?

Sincerely,
Sleepy in Sebastopol
Good question, SiS. I first realized I was old one morning while suiting up in the parking lot with the stereo cranked. First, I was cranking it because I could barely hear it. Second, I realized that my get-stoked-for-a-session selection was Morning Edition on NPR. It was pretty hard to continue with my denial after that point.
We’ve been dialing in Paul's quiver for a while now, and this midlength really fills a critical niche in our unforgiving waters. Nice to have a little foam under your chest to paddle, nice to have a bit shorter board under your feet to throw around like it’s play money and your Boardwalk property is swathed in tiny plastic hotels.

Dear HHG, is my board ready yet?
Your Friend, Mr _______________ (note to readers: this is not the same Mr. ______________that appears in Alice Walker’s excellent novel The Color Purple. That guy was a total dick)

Dear Mr. ____________,
Yes!
Just kidding, it’s not.
Clear glass job by the stoked folks out at Northern Light Surf Shop in Bodega. Glass fins by Rainbow Fin Co. in La Selva.

Dear HHG, I’ve noticed that when my three-year-old puts on her pants, she leads with the right foot. Does this mean she’ll be a goofy? I love my three-year-old, but the rest of us in the family are regular foots, and I don’t want to have to consider a trip to Raglan when the rest of us are stoked about Scorps.
All Right in Guerneville

Dear ARiG, as parents, our job is to support our children no matter their stance predilections. That said, goofyfoots are an abomination of nature. Has there ever been a goofyfoot in the Whitehouse? I rest my case (I know what you’re thinking: Martin Van Buren, eighth President of the United States, was a goofyfoot, which is incorrect—he was actually the first switchtance surfer to reach the presidency). What’s of greater concern, though, is the probability of two regularfoots giving birth to a goofyfoot: one in sixteen hundred. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but you might want to ask yourself this: was your significant other ‘just friends’ with any Kiwi surfers/yoga instructors/massage therapists about four years ago? Remember, the accent might not always be a reliable indicator. Dreadlocks, unkempt beards, and juggling with devil sticks are dead giveaways. Good luck.

And with that, I once again close up the inbox and retire to my afternoon meeting. I hope there are cookies.

Cherry, Cherry

Flawless deep red resin tints are the mark of a skilled laminator.
Leslie Anderson is a skilled laminator.
This shiny slice of candy apple goodness--standing 8'4" long, 22" wide, and sporting a 2+1 fin setup for ultimate summer beachbreak fun--is available for fondling and purchase (not necessarily in that order) from the good folks at Sonoma Coast Surf Shop in downtown Petaluma. Call 707/763-3860 or stop by 9 Fourth Street; Drew and Crew will steer you right.
It even comes with a leash cord.

Up for Grabs

Newly Unattached: Broadsword 2+1.
Measurements: a svelte-yet-curvy 8'5x22x3.
Reason for Breakup: Handsome Steve's employment termination.
Likes: the ocean, long walks on smooth peaks, steep and deep pockets, big stuff, little stuff, and everything inbetween.
Dislikes: waiting in the car on hot days.
Interesting Facts: smells like red cedar, would love nothing more than a good waxjob.
Another casualty of a dispirited economy, Handsome Steve had to surrender his freshly-shaped-yet-unglassed Broadsword this week (don't worry about Steve, a man that undeniably handsome is seldom out of work for long). By stepping forth, you have the opportunity to help a board in trouble AND realize the glassjob of your most pure/prurient desires--clear, solids, stripes, swirls, bubbles, darts...etc.
This is what she looked like when freshly shaped:
If unclaimed, the board goes to the shop with a glassjob of Leslie's imaginings, which will most likely be blue, reflective of her mood since The New Man returned to Alaska until summer.
Speaking of Alaska, if your board was in yesterday's pickup/dropoff cycle, it had the opportunity to experience snow, as evidenced by this picture I took at low speeds Somewhere in Mendocino County:
The white-knuckle driving affair (perhaps brought on by the weather hubris of my last post, and pointed out by Dr. Jay in the comments section) was only overshadowed by this stunning rainbow, shot at high speeds through the window with my camera on manual setting and no possibility of looking through the viewfinder. Nailed it! (sort of).
Bonus Question: if you name the Highway 101 exit closest to this image, you receive a FREE RESIN PINLINE on your next board order. Hint: it's between San Francisco and Crescent City. One entry per surfer, please.

Rastaman Vibrations

Positive.
Tofurkris's new acquisition comes from Northern California, and has rasta resin pinlines by Leslie Anderson. A beachbreak slasher of the Broadsword variety.
My family's new acquisition comes from the pound, and has a killer dogstache. Ben's a fuzzy wolfhound of the toe-licking variety.

California Gothic

K&N sped up from Points South, dropped off a delicious MacMurray Pinot Noir (no relation, though I have indisputable ties to this clan), picked up an 8’ Broadsword in EPS for her, a 6’something Lil’ Pill for him, and loaded them up before the cork was popped or sardines tossed onto a hot grill.
Rumor had them gobbling up south swell peelers in Santa Cruz before heading toward Point Conception, giggling as every surf forecast on the planet pointed to fun, solid surf headed their way.
Their dour expressions are just a quiet consideration of the merits of riding her board as a single fin, 2+1, or quad.

Of MiniLongboards, Minivans, and Mail

Aloha Amigos, the Postal Service may rest on Sundays, but HHG does not. This is why the last Sunday of every month is Full Disclosure Day, where I fling wide the doors to the HHG inbox to allow you, faithful reader, a glimpse into the innerworkings of a machine so complex, so forceful, that Newton's Second and Third Laws barely apply.
I also give you boardporn. Like this 8'0 Broadsword which may or may not be headed to Hawaii in the near future.
Onto the first letter!
Dear HHG,
Last week my boyfriend of six years bought a pair of Crocs, which he now wears all the time. When I asked him where he got such a dumb idea, he cited a blog post where you claimed, “real watermen wear Crocs.” Not cool, brah.
Croc Blocker

Dear Croc Blocker, anyone who disparages Crocs should immediately be strapped to a carseat and forced by a three-year-old girl to listen to "Micheal Row The Boat Ashore" on repeat for, like, ten straight hours. Wait, that's my current life, but still.
The same applies to those ridiculing minivans, midlength surfboards, or sleeping in boardshorts when you don’t ‘have’ to. It is open season, however, on those allowing 'brah' to sneak into their correspendence.
Full board 'honey' tint with a chocolate resin pinline. Delicious.
Onto the next letter!
Dear HHG,
In recent posts, I’ve seen a sprinkling of what looks like a white powder on some of the surfboards on your blog. Is there dust on your lens, or should we be concerned? Mom's already called twice.
Also, you owe me $22 for pizza.
Love, L____.

Dear Big Sis,
That white powder is, in fact, foam dust, which has the interesting distinction of getting everywhere. As I write this, there are foamdust footprints on the living room carpet, there is a fine mist of foam in the laundry room where I shake out my shaping duds, and even, inexplicably, in my undies. The minivan is the worst, as it looks either like a box of powdered donuts exploded into its rich, carpeted 1996 interior, or like it was recently used as a setpiece in a Miami Vice episode.
A $20 dollar check is in the mail. I’m keeping the $2 as recompense for the googlie-eyed stickers you jacked from me in first grade.
Dear HHG,
My buddy just got back from an Alaskan fishing trip, and his freezer is rumored to be packed with over 200lbs of halibut. How can I subtly ask him to share the wealth without getting my ass kicked?
Haliburgular

Haliburgular, if we are thinking of the same dude, it’s no use to ask. There is only action. It’s quite possible that this dude’s family is usually at the park around 11am on Saturdays. It is also quite possible that the unlocked freezer sits patiently, innocently, in a garage whose key code may or may not be 2225. It has also been reported that said bro’s dog can be pacified with beef jerky and a dirty tennis ball.
Remember: you didn’t hear this from me.
Also remember: Fish Taco Tuesdays. I’m coming over.

And with that, I will close tight the inbox until next time.

The Sword Also Rises

Christofuer, a serious devotee of trim and glide, likes to surf our chilly waters without a leash, booties, or concern for his person. And although he is patently opposed to razor blades and eating animals, he is clearly enthused about the idea of quiver expansion.
This 7’11” Broadsword should fit nicely into steep beachbreaky stuff that is ill-suited for traditional logs.
While hashing out ideas for the new stick, we discovered we’d both spent four years feeding our minds (and bodies, thanks to a shared, unrestrained passion for the school's frozen yogurt dispensers) at the same tiny Mid-Atlantic college. It's comforting to know I wasn't the only freshman with a surfboard stuffed into a Central Pennsylvania dorm closet during the Clinton years.
Christofuer catches more waves in an hour than I do in a month. I seriously considered jimmying the bottom contours to slow him down and create more waveriding opportunities for the rest of us.
Tailblock of yellowheart, bloodwood, and balsa. Foiling tailblocks smells a lot better than foiling foam.

Lines Carved in Late Spring

Aloha Amigos, as we all know, spring is a time of change. Up here NOTB, the fierce Gulf of Alaska swells, exhausted from battering our shores, stagger back north to rest and reload. Our surf attention shifts to the south and, as our inland valleys heat up, fog grips our coastline. The winds are ceaseless, tearing in from the sea with the force and aggression of a pissed-off lover. It’s no coincidence the Furies in Roman Mythogy—the three goddesses of vengeance—appeared as a punishing, relentless wind that was born of the ocean. Even William Wordsworth (1770-1850), naturey-ist of Romantic poets, mentions the wind in his Lines Written in Early Spring:
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
Scholars seem to argue that this line is evidence that, to Wordsworth, nature has the capacity to feel, not just be. It experiences pleasure as it welcomes this most welcome season.
Surfers would probably call bullshit. The last two lines show the speaker forcing himself to understand pleasure, and they follow the word breezy. Clearly, Wordsworth’s spring finds him in a constant state of reminding himself, amidst spring’s furious winds, that the season is indeed lovely, that his allergies will clear up pronto, and it won’t be too long before things turn offshore, the water temp creeps up a few degrees, and glassy barrels abound like so much low-hanging fruit.
A bit much? Perhaps, but Wordsworth did spend a lot of time on the south east coast of England, and there isn’t any evidence to support that he didn’t select a surf-friendly wave-sled from among the planks of a wrecked steamship and shred some coldwater peelers…
Speaking of wavesleds!
8’6 cedar stringered Broadsword for Ft. Bragg George. George is a big guy, and I like shaping boards for big guys—they know what they want, and they can kick my ass. A winning combo that keeps me on my toes.
This is the smaller (8’0), blonder cousin to George’s board. It’s headed to Hawai’i after a brief tour of our chilly waters. Wish I was, too…
There is a family resemblance in the hindquarters.
Hopefully, you're finding wind-protected nooks to practice your craft. Take comfort in knowing that the furies will eventually loose their grip, the sands will turn their collective faces to the sun as they warm, and these winds, too, shall pass.

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...