A masterclass in the childish-but-thrilling-to-watch fins-first takeoff…

In this, the fiftieth instalment of Mason Ho’s North Shore winter and spring, our innards are yanked out by Mason’s capacity to ride waves fins first.

Oh, it’s childish trick, I know, and to some about as clever as losing one’s teeth to improve the ability to fellate, but it’s a skill that has forever fascinated me.

Mason, almost thirty-two, is as light as a fart and controls the movement of tail and nose on his little five-feet and two-inch surfboard with such dexterity it leaves the viewer gasping for air like a caught fish.

Semi-essential.

Ongoing spinal issues with Mikey has kept that firecracker’s fuse unlit. Until now!

I  doubt if we’ll see a family like the Wrights within surfing ever again, at least in my lifetime.

Three surfers on the tour, including a duel world champ, and all of ’em with their own aesthetic.

For added spice, mysterious illnesses have derailed two thirds of the pack. These include Owen’s so-rare-it-didn’t-have-a-name delayed brain trauma that resulted in a push for compulsory helmets and Tyler’s potentially career-ending Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

Ongoing spinal issues with Mikey, meanwhile, has kept that firecracker’s fuse unlit.

Until now.

Here, we five minutes of Mikey raising his switchblade in the air and raining down in fast vicious wood.

It’s a war whoop, of sorts.

Your favourite surfer rides one single fin, one day, two-to-fifeen feet. Includes two near-scalpings.

Mason Ho and his filmer Rory Pringle sure don’t flap their arms around waiting for life to happen.

Every week, a new edit, a new-ish angle.

In today’s instalment of Mason Ho’s life on the North Shore, with winter gone and the Shore heading towards summer with its wild azaleas, mountain laurel, trillium and other blooming flowers putting on a dazzling display, we’re treated to a last swell.

April 15. Mason wakes up, waves are two feet. By dark it’s fifteen.

He rides, mostly, one board, a six-four single screw San Clemente’s Timmy Patterson shaped for Donnie Frankenreiter twenty years ago.

As always, his feet are on fire and his ass rarely catches a rail although our little frenzied rodent is almost scalped, twice, the second time by daddy Mike.

It’ll knock the moss off you!