When you get a hundred-plus sleds a year, there's gonna be a few spares to sell. | Photo: WSL/Sherman/@tsherms

Improve: Why you should buy an ex-team board!

These Ferraris will drive you crazy but there'll be…moments.

Don’t you love the accessibility of surf? That you can play the game right next to the best in the biz? Paddle out at Snapper or wherever and suddenly you’re inhaling the same oxygen as Gabriel, Italo, Filipe.

Even better is how easy it is to ride their actual surfboards.

How many average golfers are strolling the paddock with Tiger’s old clubs? Yet you, me, we can stroll into Channel Islands in Carpinteria just south of Santa Babs and buy a team board from Dane, Kelly, Yadin, Machado, Taylor.

Same with Mayhem and his Taj/Andino/Ward/Carissa …Losts in San Clemente. Give ’em a call. They’ll sell you an ex-teamer for a handful of shekels. Maybe even less than you think!

And if they ain’t selling, get on ebay. You’ll find DHDs for Mick Fanning; JS’s for Joel. These aren’t for collectors to stick on a wall. These are formula one cars you can drive.

How about this six-o of Ryan Callinan’s? Five hundred bucks. 

A Dane Reynolds for a gee. (It ain’t cheap but… Dane.)

For nine hundred Australia dollars, you can own a six-two JS that was made for Jordy’s 2018 Snapper quiver but didn’t pick up. 

Or JS’ own six-o. You think he wouldn’t put a little love into this? 

Pyzel tells me he sells all of John John’s trade-ins except for the “special ones. The ones with a story. They’re all stashed away in my factory.”

And you wanna know why you’ll wanna drive one?

Because these surfboards have been designed to win. Handmade. Lovingly handmade. Blood, sweat and tears spilt in their creation. Glassed with so much care, the builder conscious of the difference an ounce or two can make in the height of an air, the speed of a spin…

They’re not easy to ride, sure.

But life isn’t about cutting the same lines every single day, going slowly mad with boredom. You’ll experience the wildest frustration but you’ll also experience the tiniest moments where…it’s you…it’s you throwing the fins exactly…exactly…like you’ve seen on the webcast.

Maybe just one. But it’s a moment to cherish, to hold onto.

You’ll go faster than you thought possible. You’ll fly. You’ll crash. You’ll burn. And then it’ll snap.

And you’ll be a better surfer for it.


Just in: Matt Warshaw buys a pair of jeans!

Preeminent surf historian rectifies mistake with dazzling turn.

Last evening was the second premier of Trouble in Jacksonville, Florida at Surfer the Bar. Matt Warshaw, David Lee Scales and I each woke up that morning in our separate jungle cottages and tended to various business before they went surfing with our magnificent hosts Kevin and John while I sat in the shorebreak and collected painful little sea needles in my Etro trunks.

What are those things? They are white, thin, one inch long needles and the water was filled with them. Some told me sea lice but I looked at a picture of sea lice and they were not that. Others told me sea butterflies but they were not that either. I did an image search for “sea needles” and all that returned were photos of hypodermic syringes floating in the foam.

I am still very puzzled.

Post surf we ate a healthy lunch at a natural food store, came back to the Atlantic Center for the Arts and recorded a podcast, then drove from New Smyrna Beach up to Jacksonville talking various surf gossip and laughing much.

Matt and David Lee were both wearing shorts, as men sometimes do in hotter climes. I was wearing the same pair of ripped jeans that have become an unfortunate staple of my wardrobe. They were brand new stiff Japanese selvedge five years ago and I have worn them, more or less, every single day since because they fit so well but now look like I’m trying to be in the band Danger Danger.

Shorts are, of course, the more sensible option but ever since I spent a semester studying in Cairo some 20 years ago now I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear them even on the most humid of days. Shorts are reserved for little boys and perverts in the Middle East and if you start looking though that lens it makes all kinds of sense. Grown men in shorts do look like little boys or perverts.

David Lee must have had some inkling of this truth because changed into a very nice pair of trim black jeans when we pulled into a parking lot near Surfer the Bar as the sun was dipping low. Matt Warshaw appeared crestfallen and stuttered, “I left my pants at home.”

We all walked the short block to our final destination together still talking though Matt seemed very distracted. Then, at the door while we were getting fitted with red floral bracelets signifying our ability to order alcohol, he suddenly disappeared.

“Where did Matt go?” I asked David Lee.

David Lee shrugged and we went inside to get some drinks. I asked for a Stolichnaya and soda. David Lee a margarita with salt on the rim.

After finishing and ordering another I went to the outdoor patio. Lo and behold there stood Matt Warshaw in a crisp, new, dark blue pair of denim. They fit him exactly right, perfectly, and he seemed very pleased with himself.

“Where did you get those pants?” I asked.

“At the surf shop on the corner.” he responded.

“Were they the first ones you picked up?” I wanted to know.

“I tried on two other pairs first…” he said and then his face turned almost serene, almost beatific “…and these were 50% off.”

Overall, it was a very good night.

This photo, though taken during the podcast, is what we were also wearing in the car.
This photo, though taken during the podcast, is what we were also wearing in the car.

It ain't got the pop of the savagely loose, but it sure do tube. | Photo: Billy Lee Pope

Pyzel x Biolos collab board review: “I feel like a leopard baited through bars of cage!”

Stick two noted shapers in a little room and see what happens…

Are you aware of the Principle of Double Effect? Oh it’s a doozy. Catholics use it when they want to dance around religious no-nos like abortion or euthanasia.

It’s the notion that there is a moral diff between an intended consequence and one that is going to happen but not the primary motive. So, if you give a terminally ill cancer patient a ton of morphine to lighten up the pain, knowing it’ll kill ‘em, that ain’t euthanasia. And if you rip out the tubes of a pregnant gal to save her life and it kills the kid, it ain’t abortion.

It’s the same with the low-rockered semi-fish. It’s going to make surfing a hell of a lot easier, it might even convince the lifetime intermediate that he’s suddenly advanced, but it’ll do so at the cost of ever being able to ride a high-performance board again.

The double doctrine effect. You survive and thrive, thereby making the decision morally acceptable, but your skills are killed.

I’ve been trying to get off five-six ironing boards for years. I got addicted in 2000 after scooping a five-nine Brian Bulkley-shaped Lost round-nose fish off the racks at the Pukas factory in Spain. I was on six-twos at the time. Once I figured out the standard three-fin setup didn’t work on the fish and threw in two MRs and a baby third, I couldn’t get off it. It was fast, it was loose and, as one of the first to get turned onto ‘em in south-west France where I lived, it gave me a substantial performance advantage among pals.

When I moved to Bondi two years later, a joint where the waves are made for wide-tail designs that can fly over dead sections, the little five-nine came with me. When it was eventually retired, I found a newer version. Then another. And another.

Fifteen years later, still on ‘em.

Until.

Until.

Back in September 2017, for a story that I hoped might birth a transitional board that’d work for me, I got the Hawaiian-based Jon Pyzel (lifetime shaper to John John Florence) and California’s Matt Biolos (lifetime shaper to Kolohe Andino) to collaborate on one design. An email thrown back and forth with a CAD file attached, each working on different aspects of the one surfboard.

‘You know what gets my dick hard, Jon, helping out my friends.”
“I still hate you, but you have a pretty good collection of team riders.”

I told ‘em I wanted “a HP board the average stud can ride. And, imagine, this stud, who doesn’t have the luxury of a sponsorship, might ride it at Trestles and Rocky Point.”

Five eleven. 170 pounds. Me.

“Fast but loose, light but strong, thin but floaty. Okay, Goldilocks, you got it,” wrote Pyzel.

One month later, a five-ten was spat out of Pyzel’s machine that was Mayhem’s rocker and deck-line profile wrapped by Pyzel’s outline, rail rocker and bottom contour.

Two proud daddies, Biolos at left, Pyzel with the big jaw, at right.

“It looked good, not what I am used to my boards looking like, but sexy,” said Pyzel.  “The main things that stood out to me were the last few inches of nose rocker and the thickness flow through the last 18” in the tail. Both looked quite a bit different from one of my boards, but it wasn’t so far off from them. Pretty weird to create a board like this and have it come out so nice.”

Pyzel’s team rider Koa Rothman rode the five-ten and refused to return it, texting, Man, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can give it back. It’s one of the best short boards I’ve ridden.’”

Recently, despite the weight of a one-hundred dollar royalty payable (fifty apiece to Jon and Biolos), the Australian distributor of Lost and Pyzel made thirty of the collab board to sell, Australia only.

The Mayzel or maybe The Pyhem, depends which shaper you ask.

It comes in three sizes, five-eleven (27.7 litres), six-o (29.2 litres) and six-one (30.7 litres), $995, limited edition etc.

I got the six-one.

“Dunno about the super narrow nose,” the counter jockey at the delivery surf shop said disapprovingly as I picked it up.

He pointed out the new Futures boxes. Lightboxes.

Made out of fibreglass and carbon, the same as the board. Unlike plastic, the Lightboxes form a chemical bond with the fibreglass and resin. All of the Mayzels come with it even though the system ain’t being rolled out until the end of the year.

Futures says the fibreglass and carbon box is the lightest fin system on earth. I got no scales so I can’t vouch for the claim. Also ’cause of their bond with the board they’re supposed to allow a natural tail flex.

Apart from the fancy fin boxes, the board didn’t look promising to a man fattened by easy boards. Was this going to deliver me from the evil of the Fish and be my gateway drug back into the high-ish fi realm?

I’ve become emotionally conditioned to surfboards that look easy. I caught two waves on a Channel Islands DFR five years ago and was thrown off by the extreme rocker. My upper limbs became paralysed with tension, the lower pair twitching like the severed legs of a galvanised frog as I tried to wrestle it down the line.

I’ve never felt so sad and vowed never to do anything so cruel to my self-worth ever again.

Walking the Mayzel/Pyhem to the car, a kid, in startled recognition, saw the two conflicting shaper logos and asked if it was a Chinese board.

Two from two.

Mayzel
Is it worth hammering away in a cubicle for this thousand dollar surfboard? What an absurd question!

But there was something about the Mayzel, the Pyhem, that felt just a little reassuring. I know I can trust Biolos’ and I ain’t never heard a bad word about Pyzel’s Ghost.

I didn’t surf it for two weeks.

Indolence. Fear.

I knew I should.

One mid-morning in winter.

Three foot. A little horse-shoe wedge. Rare for this part of the world. I expect… nothing, nothing that is except a wild arrhythmic flurry in my heart and terrible disappointment.

It doesn’t come.

I’m reminded of how superior a six-one with a pulled-in nose is to paddle compared to a five-six. I collect a couple of sets.

I bang on my front foot and outrun sections and then try and wheel it all back into the juice. Standard fish surfing. When you’re settled on a bag of pillows like a five-six fish you can murder all the sections you like, it’s still gonna get you home.

It ain’t that easy on the hi-fi.

I’m not hopelessly fucked up by my initial impressions, howevs, and when you’ve been bankrupt you’ll bank any gain.

A few more surfs.

(Here, the reader interjects: “Lemme guess. Board goes insane. Changes your life etc.” Author replies: “Yes!“)

My back foot starts to catch on the pad (Necro, buy here) and I learn to hold my fire. The approach starts to work. I’d forgotten the feeling of being able to bottom turn and come straight back up the face and hit the lip. And not murdering good waves waves by air-dropping, hopping up on the concave and trying to kickstart my little board. Instead, I could knife into the face.

Shorter, tighter, better turns.

A couple of weeks on the Mayzel/Pyhem and the five-six in the corner starts to look like the tired old syringe of a former junkie.

What the Mayzel/Pyhem delivers, and ain’t this just a miracle since I conceived the idea, is a board that stands as an easy-to-ride hi-fidelity entrée.

A gateway back into the real game.

Criticism? As divine as it is, I don’t feel no pop or that savage looseness of a pro’s board. What I find is confidence through control, like a train on a predetermined track.

At times, when it comes together, I feel like a leopard baited through the bars of a cage. Snarling. Growling, Hissing.

Rarrrrgh!

I’m back etc.

The Mayzel/Pyhem is available from these surf shops:

Aloha
Sanbah
Slimes
Rip Curl Torquay
Rip Curl Narrabeen
Board Store WA
Cordingleys

Forgotten: Surf films are important and fun!

And great to watch together!

Last night, as you well know, the movie Trouble premiered in front of a sold out crowd at the Florida Surf Film Festival in New Smyrna Beach. It was hot, sticky with periodic jolts of thunder and miraculously only one lonely mosquito. It was also almost too much fun and I had completely forgotten what it feels like to sit around with a derelict batch of surfers, kids, families, derelicts and enjoy the bizarre dance we all love deeply.

The best part, for me, were the opening acts. These bolstered my soul. These made me smile. These made me remember that in the day and age of YouTube, Vimeo, Instagram, Facebook the best way to watch surfing is with other surfers.

Eric Geiselman absolutely rips.

The Fortune Wild by Ben Gulliver made me want to go on a surf trip.

Coco Ho should be the face of the World Surf League.

And Joe G. is the greatest surf filmmaker to ever live by far. By far far far far. He understands the genre like no other and deserves an Academy Award for his work. I am not even kidding. He work manipulates an audience into frenzy like… like… like Mick Jagger. Women were throwing their bras at the screen. Men their underwear.

And do you have a bigger screen television? You should go out, buy some booze, drag it all outside and invite the neighborhood kids over. When the police arrive just tell them Chas Smith said it was ok. Not only ok. Necessary.

If you happen to be in Jacksonville, Florida tonight come to the Surfer Bar. We’re going to do it all again.


Cymatic Board Review: “F$cking steep learning curve, sensations unique!”

You got what it takes to manhandle a Slater Designs Cymatic?

Marketing sure is a strange voodoo, none of us immune to it’s subtle charms. We all have our strange desires. Japanese swimbaits give me fever chills, Borsalino flat caps tickle my taint in the most enlivening fashion.

Despite a brief dalliance with the curved potato chip-style killers of the 90′,  if Slater throws up a marketing itch I ain’t one for scratching. Purps, Kommunity, VSTR, white wetsuits,wave tubs etc etc. If Robert K Slater is the pitch man I go cold as ice.

So, I got a Slater Designs Cymatic.

My first thought when I took the Cymatic under arm was: this isn’t a surfboard, it’s a piece of air painted white with fin boxes in it. Impossibly light, and insubstantial. My wife commented as I took it out of the Camry that it looked like a dwarf mini-mal. Inauspicious beginnings.

We need to start somewhere, so let’s start here. I took a sixpack of Stone and Wood Pacific Ale around to Stu Kennedy’s gaff on a Friday afternoon as a thank-you for delivering the board from the Gold Coast, via Thailand. He said he couldn’t drink it because he was sponsored by Coopers but his wife and mate in high-vis volunteered to accept the gift. My first thought when I took the Cymatic under arm was: this isn’t a surfboard, it’s a piece of air painted white with fin boxes in it. Impossibly light, and insubstantial.

My wife commented as I took it out of the Camry that it looked like a dwarf mini-mal. Inauspicious beginnings.

The stock 5’6” came in at just under 30 litres, a couple under the recommended dims from the Firewire site for my specs. You need to go small. I’ve seen the evolution of the Modern Planing Hull, of which the Cymatic is the latest iteration, from a front row seat. I was there the day Dan Thomson showed up at the Point with a little 5’3” wakeboard and I’ve been there countless times when he’s laid down the shred on his Tomo Modern Planing Hulls. There’s always been something there and I figured at some point I would jump on the bus and swig the Kool Aid.

Never happened until now.

Why? Marketing.

Just as the fabulous success of the Hypto Krypto came on the back of the young and the bearded entranced by the romance of a throwback design steezed-out by Craig Ando, the Tomo and Slater collab has come to stand in for the middle-aged man looking to recreate some magic in his surfing life.

Don Quixote, were he alive today, would be on an over-sized, or under-sized Cymatic. I don’t say as a foreigner passing judgement but as a fellow traveller. One who believes life is not worth living without a generous dollop of creative self-delusion. The first surf was comical.

In other words, a potent symbol of middle-aged delusion.Terrible irony for such a high-performance product. Don Quixote, were he alive today, would be on an over-sized, or under-sized Cymatic. I don’t say as a foreigner passing judgement but as a fellow traveller. One who believes life is not worth living without a generous dollop of creative self-delusion.

The first surf was comical.

Checked Tallows on my way back from the airport and it looked fun in the corner,. punchy lefts breaking into the rip. A dozen or so people out, maybe 20 along the whole beach.Went back to the industrial estate to grab the Cymatic and came back. I got onto the beach and I could see no-one in the water. No one. 

The lefts were still breaking in the corner, punchy little things sometimes winding in on themselves. Light north-west wind, perfect for the spot. Empty. It was surreal.

I craned my head and looked up the lighthouse, no tourists lollygagging. Nothing. Something must have happened: shark attack, suicide bomber, zombie apocalypse.

 So I went out and grabbed a few lefts, then a few more. I could barely get to my feet on the board. 
Only one way to test this, I thought. So I stripped off and went back out and surfed naked. 
No one came. I could not occupy the same point in time and space as the board. Wherever I was it wasn’t and wherever I wasn’t it was. Without control, speed is hard to attain. Pushing, driving in any normal sense lead to disaster.

Lack of control is the primary cause of most of the heinous crimes committed by the intermediate surfer. At its fundamental level, good surfing is harnessing the gravitational force using the climb and drop and the kinetic dimensions of centripetal force off the bottom turn and top turn.

Lack of control is the primary cause of most of the heinous crimes committed by the intermediate surfer. At its fundamental level, good surfing is harnessing the gravitational force using the climb and drop and the kinetic dimensions of centripetal force off the bottom turn and top turn.

It’s incredible how rarely these basic truths have been laid down in ink or bytes. 

The session ended as the day started to wind down. Following three shaky speed snaps I went over the handlebars on a close-out dredge-out and, wading into the beach with the sun in my eyes, I could not see the board…no legrope.

By the time I got into the beach, the board was in the rip and going around Cape Byron. A naked swim out to sea under a darkening sky to retrieve did not feel nice.

Very sad, I composed a long text message to D. Rielly, BeachGrit Principal: Sorry, losing my edge. Can not ride Cymatic. Death awaits. And so on and so forth. Only a residuum of pride native to my home Island kept me from hitting send. Bribie Boys don’t quit. A total rewiring of the neuro-muscular apparatus was in order. A naked swim out to sea to retrieve etc.

The next few sessions were conducted at a wedging rivermouth breakwall, please don’t name. Really good surf. Overhead, an abundance of speed indigenous to the wave shape on offer. At first, the board again felt too insubstantial and out of control for me to put it where I wanted it to go. Which was straight up for the high hooking backhand hit. It was a case of following the advice of German poet Rainer Maria Rilke who counselled, “We must learn to trust in what is difficult.” Learning curve is not a property we associate with surfboard marketing but it is a valid measure.

The learning curve for the Cymatic is steep, very fucking steep. But somehow it started to make sense. You don’t push to get where you need to be, you think it and the board will go there. By the end of the third session I was surfing again.

The learning curve for the Cymatic is steep, very fucking steep. But somehow it started to make sense. The hull is so sensitive, even finned as a quad that the body riding it must develop a corresponding level of relaxation and sensitivity. Any tension or inappropriate body positioning is brutally punished. You don’t push to get where you need to be, you think it and the board will go there. By the end of the third session I was surfing again.

To achieve the desired neuro-muscular state a period of mental and physical hygiene was required, and duly undertaken. Abstinence from substances, physical fitness, clean eating, meditation etc etc. The better I got, the more the Cymatic came under my control. A distinctly un-radical observation. Many sessions at the local Point followed.

The good thing about riding a Cymatic at Lennox Point is you will be under the gaze of the designer Dan Thomson and his father Mark Thomson. That is also the worst thing about riding a Cymatic at Lennox Point. You can’t hide. There was independent verification by these eyewitnesses that the board was not too much of a vehicle for self-delusion. Also confirmation of the “control problem.”

Some conclusions: The quad concave hull and channel bottom is incredibly hydrodynamically efficient. It reaches top planing speed with very little effort by climbing and dropping. The increased rocker does not slow down-the-line speed. While the tiny board is a bitch to paddle around the lineup it catches waves with surprising ease. Control of the turning angles and arc lengths at speed remains the primary challenge. I reached top speed on most waves but fell a lot. I did not go near the edge of the performance envelope on this board. I enjoyed very much.

The good thing about riding a Cymatic at Lennox Point is you will be under the gaze of the designer Dan Thomson and his father Mark Thomson. That is also the worst thing about riding a Cymatic at Lennox Point. You can’t hide. There was independent verification by these eyewitnesses that the board was not too much of a vehicle for self-delusion. Also confirmation of the “control problem.”

Mark was adamant that changing fin designs to his Power Drive fins would grant me more steering control and avoid the under or over steer I was experiencing during turns at speed. More testing on his fins awaits.

I like to be “on the bus” with a surfboard design. To that end, a passion for following a design can take on cult-like proportions. A little discussed but fundamental property of surf culture sorely missing from Chas Smith’s listicle of qualities required to belong to surf developed here.

I have belonged to several surfboard cults, notably the McCoy cult and the Bonzer cult. They are beautiful, enriching experiences with wonderful sage-like quasi guru figures to rally behind. Matt Warshaw, in his introduction to Cocaine+Surfing, said surfing is pointless. Which is true enough, at face value, but a reductio ad absurdum argument carried to it’s conclusion.

Life is pointless, on that we can be certain. A fascination and immersion into the cult of the surfboard generates as much meaning as any human activity. More than most, maybe.

The Tomo designed Modern Planing Hull has migrated from Lennox Head and achieved a cult-like status in North America, particularly on the west coast. It has many passionate adherents. During several years of goalless vagabonding on the North American continent I experienced tremendous, tremendous luck with the gals. Korean-American vegan waitresses in Santa Cruz, Psych-nurses from the Twin Cities, sharp-tongued Jersey girls from “the Shore”, lawyers from Boston with accents you could cut with a steak knife, transitioned show girls in hole in the wall bars in San Fransisco, dancers from Kansas who took too many chances, drug fiends from Dakota, cherubs in Sea-Side, Oregon who spent big on cans of fake tan, big breasted playboy models in La Jolla with tempers like cobras, wherever I went, qualities that would earn a clip over the ear on Bribie: bookishness, a penchant for bombastic language, a poetic world-view, saw nothing but open hearts, open minds, open legs in return. It was truly a feast at which all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

I do not brag. The experience is not unique. I have not even what Lewis Samuels calls “a regional talent”. I could sing the lyric from Townes Van Zandt’s No Place to Fall – “I’m not much of a lover it’s true” – very honestly.

I only mention for two reasons. First, a cursory and more detailed inspection of the history of surfing as written in the magazines and official documents paints us as a curiously asexual, prurient, bloodless tribe. It’s as if the bronzed rigs, the delight in coupling do not and have never existed.

Second, as Dan Tomo and my experience has shown, sometimes you need to escape the small town and take the show to the Big Smoke. The Modern Planing Hull, the Cymatic would have forever remained a fringe design had Dan not had the sack to “take California”.

The wheels fell off the wagon during testing. Slowly, at first, then all at once. Drinking started during the Keramas event. A little at first, then too many. Gudams were smoked. I piked taking the Cymatic out at six-to-eight-foot-Lennox Point. Then hurt my back sexing my wife. She likes a willing lover and has let it be known I could easily be replaced by a Maori rugby player if I’m not up to the task. The next day the surf was still six-feet and I took the Cymatic out to test the upper-size range. The paddle was horrendous and on a set wave, barely in control, I did 20 or so backhand re-entries. I could barely walk up the rocks.

Two days later in head-high, butter-texture Point surf, I did the best backhand surfing in my life, I think. Granted, self-delusion is the primary characteristic of the middle-aged male surfer. We are truly a risible type of buffoon. Tara is right to point that out.

Am I kidding myself I asked him after he’d twisted one up.

“Mate it’s the spiciest and best I’ve seen you surf for years,” he said.

Believe or not, at your discretion.

Luckily for me, I have my oldest friend, we grew up together on Bribie, as a surf companion. There are no Sancho Panzas on Bribie. We tell it straight. I called my mate over for a chainsaw and fish after the surf.

Am I kidding myself I asked him after he’d twisted one up.

“Mate it’s the spiciest and best I’ve seen you surf for years,” he said.

Believe or not, at your discretion.

It’s probably the sad fate of this design to not end up under the feet of those who could push it to its limits, Tomo himself notwithstanding. Kelly Slater did it a terrible disservice not riding it in the tub for the Founders’ Cup.

Who, what and where would the Cymatic suit? I think tropical and sub-tropical surf zones are its natural habitat, plus California. An A-frame in Nicaragua. Small Mexican Pipe, Point surf with curve. Any and all Indonesian reefbreaks. Hawaii. South Pacific, North Pacific. French beachbreaks. Durban.

It’s probably the sad fate of this design to not end up under the feet of those who could push it to its limits, Tomo himself notwithstanding. Kelly Slater did it a terrible disservice not riding it in the tub for the Founders’ Cup.

Get after it and get in shape if you are north of thirty and want to ride. Get the fast-twitch fibres happening and open the mind.

The learning curve is steep but worth the effort, the sensations unique. It is a mind machine, willing to go wherever you can imagine.

Buy, examine here. 

(And watch our masked pro surfer throwing a board he describes as “having more speed out of turns than I’ve ever felt” around at Snapper and D-Bah.)