Foiled Again

Fish

 Is

Good

Executive Order

Good Lord, the shit's been busy lately. Trips in all compass directions and altitudes. Earthquakes. Two-wheeler-and-ice-cream adventures. Storm tracks and hurricanes and back-to-school sweats and shorter days and the first hints of the miraculous golden light of fall.
And through this, of course, the waves keep coming. Cold ones and warm ones and sharp pointy ones and slow thick ones that spread themselves over the reefs and sandbars like peanut butter.
And people want to ride on these waves on surfboards, and those boards have to be shaped. And the great, watery world keeps on spinning.

Speaking of shaped boards, here's Brent's new Executive (9'10), with insane artwork by local shredder/artist Blair Tom. If you've been to Bolinas, or if you're cool, you're familiar with Blair's work. You can dig deeper into Blair's creations, inspired by the first nations of the Pacific Northwest, HERE.

If you've surfed Bodega Bay, you're familiar with Brent, who catches lots of waves. If you're really familiar with Brent, you've learned to seek a second opinion when he texts, IT'S TOTALLY EPIC! GET TO S____N RIGHT NOW AND BLAST IT!!!!!!

His new stick, The Executive, is my interpretation of the Hobie Phile Edwards model (seen HERE), in a contemporary Northern California beachbreak setting.
Its standard features--triple stringer, glass-on fin, rounded pintail, pulled nose, slightly rolled entry to a panel vee off the tail--inspire Edwards-stile trim, glide, and mojo. The updated rocker, foil, and rails, however, give it the goods in juicier surf.
One might ask, Does it noseride?
To which the Executive would reply, Who gives a F*&c? Leave the obsessive, terrier-like running-to-the-nose to the young whippersnappers, and instead focus on the sweet, sweet pleasures of the rear 1/3rd of the board. The high-line finding, pocket protecting, curl seeking, steezy style-making aquatic engine zone of the whole goddamn thing.
Clearly, the Executive is a gentleman's surfboard, and should be enjoyed with a gentleman's beverage.
Recommended Pairing: I recommend enjoying the Executive with a dram of Aberlour A'Bunadh. Smooth, classic, stylish--a lush, golden complement for a board that should take you into your golden years of surfing with power, grace, and a pretty solid buzz.

Salud!

Of Warm Pancakes and Ghosts of the Heart

Joey's story is not unlike any of our stories, therefore Joey (shredder, artist, teacher, maker, good man) is all of us.
Joey saw something that pleased him, just as we all see things that please us.
Joey touched the thing that pleased him, as we all have touched things that please us.
Oh, only if there was some sort of big book to guide us through our temptation!
Perhaps Joey let his hands linger a bit too long on the thing. Perhaps, later, Joey's mind returned to the thing, warmed it over and over like a soft pancake.
The pancake then quietly, expeditiously, scooped a tiny, warm pancake cave into Joey's brain, where it tucked in, pulling the blanket of Joey's desire around itself.

Joey and not his own 6'4 Clover.
Full story HERE

At times, the pancake slept. Warmly. Peacefully. Almost invisibly, only the occasional pancake corner poking forth from the deep folds of the blanket, the occasional pleased sigh muffled by its own fluffy epidermis.
Other times, though, the pancake raged. The pancake seethed and the pancake coveted. The pancake wanted. Oh how the pancake wanted! The pancake felt no shame in this, this naked wanting, this perfect desire. For this is what the pancake did, this is what the pancake was.
When the pancake raged--and oh how the pancake raged!--it was untiring in its want, indefatigable in its trickery. It snuck out of its cave at night, quietly, hauntingly. It slunk from its quarters at day, oozing and slouching and slinking. It sprang forth morning and evening and at work or in the workshop or during lovely dinners with his lovely lady artist, and during quiet moments when there was just Joey and the pancake. It nibbled and gnashed, tickled and punched, and at these times there was no blanket, and there was no rest.
The pancake wailed and screeched and tore at him with talons. The pancake soothed and whispered and touched the places it touched with the lightest of touches. It hacked into the voicemail of Joey's soul and left a message on endless repeat: want, need. Need, want. Must must must!

Joey's 6'4 Clover

During these moments in our lives, there is only one path before us. The path of submission, spinning into the distance. The ocean of surrender.
Now Joey is sated. The pancake rests, its warm golden chest rising and falling imperceptibly, the tinest of watch-motor movements in its carbohydratic center.

Joey's 6'4 Clover with his original art

But the pancake's heart--the gluteny dry paste of it--beats. It beats slowly now, but one day, perhaps, it will beat faster. It will squirm out from under its blanket and its voice--strange at first, then familiar, oh so familiar!--will begin to whisper.

Still Life with 6'8x21

All Clear

Cha-Ching! Paul gets to cash in his Sandwich Club Card with the receipt of this sleek 6'0 double-wing MiniSimmons. It's got a slight arc tail, a cedar stringer that made my shop smell like barbecue for a few days, and is super shiny.

If I had just aquired my sixth board, I'd go for a General Washington: an off-the-menu #98 with fried chicken substitited for halal chicken on Ike's own (non roof-of-the-mouth-destroying) dutch crunch. Good lord!

I hope Paul doesn't order a Lizzy's Lips (halal chicken, italian dressing, pepperjack). Not because the of the sandwich, which sounds awesome, but because Lizzy is my sister's name and that would be weird.

This board can be ridden as a four fin or three fin. I recommend pairing it with some waves, a little wax to make your feet stick to the board, and a nice dram of Templeton Rye. Even though it's from Iowa and not upstate NY, this is one hell of a whiskey. Honey and vanilla give way to crisp mint and wintergreen. Makes me wonder why I used to waste valuable drinking time mixing in vermouth and bitters. Perfect on a cold night, a warm night, a mild night, or during a hockey game. 

A Clear Sense of Things

American poet Wallace Stevens penned the following lines about fall:
After the leaves have fallen we return
To a plain sense of things. It is as if
We had come to an end of imagination,
Inanimate in an inert savoir.
Sorry, bro!
(by the way, I looked up savoir so you don't have to: a personification of death)
Fall means many things to many different people up here in Northern California, but 'inert' isn't one of them. Winemakers and grape growers boost their heart rates to 'high alert', poised on the edge of a gargantuan push to kickstart one of the most wonderful processes in all the world.
Steelhead, feeling increasingly more funny in their netherparts, burst from their upstream feeding grounds in pursuit of saltwater and sweet, sweet love. Fishermen, feeling a similar tingle,  spool backing onto fly lines and fantasize about #8 egg-sucking leaches and depth-charge nymphs.
Young 'uns lay out new clothes and feel awkward and try out for sports and theater productions and wonder if their fresh haircut will grow out by picture day.

And surfers. Eager to transcend the thigh-high windchop and socked-in, wool-sweater fog of summer, surfers begin mindsurfing the inevitable pulses of North Pacific energy.
Know who's ready for Fall?
Lucas, as evidenced by his new Sparkplug.
This thing has fall in Northern California written all over it--clean lines, no-nonsense shape, no frills glass job by Pico and the good folks at Northern Light Surf Shop in Bodega.

To be fair, Wallace Stevens was living in Central Pennsylvania when he wrote A Plain Sense of Things.
And, in a sense, we, too, return to a Plain Sense of Things in fall--attentions shift wherever they had been for the spring and summer, and come into a sharper focus. The Pacific Ocean stirs, and things start happening. Surf. Weather. High pressure. Low pressure. Pulled pork in the crockpot. Red wine and Islay single malts. Socks. Unmanageable surf. Highly manageable surf.

Lucas is a man who thinks ahead. He'll have his Sparkplug quad dialed by the time the first overhead wave spins toward our rocky shoreline this fall, bringing with it the hopes and joys of Pacific Coast surfers, and a beginning, rather than an end, of imagination.

Plug

Kelly is a Renaissance man—surfer, artist, designer, entrepreneur, musician, dude with a mustache. He’s also a builder with of epic vision. How do we know it’s epic? because it’s in the name: Epic Design Build.

The EDB bros are scientists of building efficiency. They also like riding bikes, shredding Northcoast waves, and drinking beers at the Toad.

Kelly is at the forefront of a movement to transform Santa Rosa’s Railroad Square from a place of occasional dining and hobo watching to a model of the contemporary urban ideal: small local businesses, artists, intellectuals, musicians, surfboard shapers with an alarming amount of gray finding its way into their beard this winter, purveyors of local-made (and brewed!) goods intermingling with community-minded homeowners and their offspring. Sounds nice, eh?

So what does a man-of-our-times order when he wants to shred?

6’ Sparkplug.

Like the name implies, the Sparkplug is the necessary ingredient for heavy duty shredding. Plenty of foam for Northcoast paddling with a rocker to match our steep beachbreak offerings.

Quad for extra spark.

Because he's also a gigantic design nerd, Kelly created his own custom Sparkplug lam just in case, in the middle of a sess, he forgets why his board shreds so hard.

California born, start to finish.

The Crow

This is a clear 8'something Broadsword with five fin boxes and a cedar stringer and a big black resin crow on the deck for NorthCoast ripper, family man, fish-and-chips fan, and generally stoked outdoor dude Jean (as in Van Damme, not Billie King).
Why a big black resin crow?
No idea. I don't ask the questions. I just make the boards.

Now that I've written that, I realize that in shaping boards I do, indeed, ask a lot of questions. So I guess I don't ask a lot of personal questions. Sometimes I do, though, like weight and foot size and, "what's your favorite sexytime website?" and good ideas for ceviche recipes.

 Basically, I've lost control of this post and will end it here.

Of Frankenfish, Summer Reading, The Hindenburg

As you can imagine, I get the electronic version of heaps of mail (Kilobytes? Megabytes? Brownie Bites?) weekly, from topics as far-reaching as shaping, to why isn't my board ready yet, and what the hell do you mean you went to Baja and left my board at the glasser, and why haven't you called your mom in a month, and how come there's a credit card charge for a movie called The DaVinci Load?
Anyhoo, I treat these correspondence as I treat all of my business dealings: with respect, dignity, and the occasional impulse to post them online so that all 37 (got another blog hit last Tuesday!) of you can enjoy.
I present to you the HHG Mail Bag, Summer Reading Edition!
And a new surfboard for local shredder Chip.

Chip's 7'Something" Frankenfish

Dear HHG, I just finished reading Chad Harbach's best-seller The Art of Fielding and was kind of underwhelmed. However, I don't trust my instincts. First, it's on the bestseller list. Second, there's like fifteen pages of positive reviews before the book even begins PLUS an author interview at the end Also, the cover has cool font and is very patriotic. All of these must add up to an amazing reading experience, right? Is it me? Are my tastes slipping?
LitSlip in Leucadia

LitSlip, if you're asking me for assistance, your tastes are already questionable. However, with regard to Mr. Harbach's novel, you must stand strong with your opinions. What would have happened if Hindenburg captain Ernst Lehmann hadn't stood strong in his belief that his zeppelin airship could be safely docked at Lakehurst Naval Air Station in New Jersey during an electrical storm with strong headwinds in a flammable aircraft packed with combustible gasses? How would history have been changed had flygirl Amelia Earhart not stood firm on her opinion that an equatorial around-the-world flight plan would be a piece of cake? What would have happened if I had not taken an unwavering stand with the lovely Mrs. HHG that there would be 'no consequences whatsoever' in allowing each of our young girls to eat an entire bag of dried cherries during our recent sixteen-hour drive back from Mexico?

More Frankenfish!

Dear HHG,
on a recent surf trip to Baja with a few other couples I noticed an interesting phenomenon with the ladyfolk: there would be hushed whispering, a stifled giggle or two, the sounded of a blender motor, a concealed exchange, and then one would disappear. Several days later she would reappear in search of more margaritas, and the phenomenon would begin again. What gives?
Gray Curious in Carlsbad

Gray Curious, your instincts serve you well: E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey is wholly responsible for these behaviors, which can circulate through select populations with a cyclical regularity. Remember The Bridges of Madison County? Overall, this clandestine literary pursuit is far preferable to what the less-fair sex does with their gender-isolated pursuits: jumping off things. Farting on things. Football.

Four Wings+Four Fins=Sixty-Four Times the Radness

Dear HHG, Should I read Atlas Shrugged?
Randy in The Tenderloin.

Randy, please read Atlas Shrugged if you hate humor and self awareness, and love drawn-out 'moral' justifications for self-interest and greed! Also, read if you enjoy hundreds of pages of white men giving speeches about their importance, predictable characters, and d-bags approaching you with their own half-baked, semi-racist, self-serving economic theories. Also read if you love boring shit in general.
Don't get me wrong, Randy. I love bad writing as much as the next person--culture snobs, as a whole, are a  paranoid and miserable bunch, and act as if the rest of the world is the same way. Screw those guys! Read books about sports stars bitchin' cars and celebrity marriages gone bad and murder mysteries that are also love stories that turn into feel good road trips with vampire-hunting ex presidents. There is joy in that stuff, and that's what reading is all about.
And summer.
And Chip's new 7-foot-Something-inch surfboard.

War Pony Chronicles: Urho the Milk Drinker

In a department store in Minnesota in 1956, Richard Mattson invented the patron saint of Finland. He called him St. Urho. Why? Because Finland needed a patron saint, damnit, and their current one, Henry, Bishop of Finland, kind of sucked. For example: Henry could not guzzle sour whole milk in obscene quantities. Urho could.

Henry could not expel plagues of grape-munching grasshoppers from the countryside. Urho could.

And Henry’s name was Henry, for God’s sake, not Urho. Would you rather pray for strength to a saint whose name translates to Hero, or to one whose name translates to, ahh, Henry?

My point is that I’m calling this board a Jet Pony. I’ve tried other names and they don’t stick. I care not what anonymous blog commenters (“sounds like a Power Puff girl character” and ”isn't that the Care Bear with the rainbow on her overalls?”) or that one grumpy guy in France (“Not at all masculine. Also, a fish must be under six feet in length”) thinks. It’s a War Pony with a jet tail and it just makes sense.

This particular Jet Pony (or Jet Poni for my Croatian readership) is for North Bay surf-bathing enthusiast Keefe, who likes to shred Ocean Beach when he’s not consulting international startups, Occupying London, or blazing our local single-track offerings.

It's 6'4, very shiny, and sports a quad setup (patyo sa loob for those in the Philippines). Just the thing for OB, which has no shortage of steep walls and likes to reward those with superior rail-to-rail quickness.

Fast.

Sneak Peek

People ask me all the time. They write or email or call and say, hey HeadHigh, you’re a handshaper (sometimes they say ‘boutique shaper,’ or, ‘small-batch shaper,’ or, ‘dude who needs to work on his calf muscles’) how can you possibly put your boards through the same paces as one of the Big Guys like Al Preisendorfer, or Matt Carper? How much of your budget is allocated for research and development? How do you achieve perfection without a stable of fourteen-year-old boys offering fourteen-year-old feedback about the radness of your boards?

Sometimes I’ll address these missives by extolling the virtues of the one-off shape, the uniqueness of a board that’s been created for exactly this place in space in time, for a surfer’s homebreak, their wetsuit thickness, their shoe size, and what a combo swell does to their sandbars. Sometimes, if I’ve had a Bud Light Lime or two (don’t ask), I’ll pontificate upon the energy that is passed from the hands to the shape—to the rails, the rocker, the foil. The electricity of skin on foam, the life of the thing.

Sometimes, however, the inquisitor is left unsatisfied. They want more—proof, equations, science. Code on a clipboard. In these rare instances I lift the curtain a bit and allow a peek—a brief sniff, if you will—into the inner workings, the hidden workings, the underground workings of the entire HHG operation. The kinds of workings that require a hard hat and a one piece zip-front jumpsuit. The kinds of workings that demand humorlessness and a square jawline set at a certain angle. The kinds of workings that can only be fulfilled by one man: Juaquin de Largo.

Every board that comes out of my shop has been subjected to Juaquin’s Rigorous 3-Point Inspection Process of Inspection. In the name of full disclosure, I now part the curtain and allow you a glimpse into the process as Juaquin takes our new model, The Heater, through the painstaking Process of Inspection. This is a special day.

1.Does it Float? You don’t hear too much about this factor from the Big Guys, but it’s pretty important. As you can see, Juaquin devotes an indescribable intensity (and impressive flexibility!) to this Inspection Point.

2. How Does it Look From This Angle? Most of the Big Guys neglect this Inspection Point entirely, but it’s crucial. Juaquin studies the fresh board from AT LEAST two different angles, both formally AND casually (pictured).

3. Is it Facebook Profile Worthy? The most recent addition to the Rigorous 3-Point Inspection Process of Inspection (remember, HHG was carving out boards long before Al Gore even considered inventing the Interwebs). Self-shots involving the board are taken from two angles: the head-on (pictured), and the overhead. The head-on is specifically designed to remove the Creeper Factor from the profile imaging process, and is favored by men of a certain age. The overhead shot is tested for maximum lip poutiness and studied nonchalance, usually employed by teenage girls and those who want to look like teenage girls.

I hope you have enjoyed this behind-the-scenes peek into our commitment to serving. We are also committed to safety, as evidenced by Juaquin de Largo’s shiny hat. We are also pretty committed to local zinfandel, so that’s three things.